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AFLOAT 

WITH 

OLD GLORY 


BY 

A BLUE JACKET 

OF 

The Old Navy 


THE 

Hbbcy press 


PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

LONDON NEW YORK MONTREAL 












r TH ff u BRARY OF] 
j CONGRESS, 
f Two Copies Received j 

JUN. 8 190 ) 

Copyright entry 

2 . 2 , t<foo 
CLASS ^ **c. nJ 
3 0 <? 3 (, 
copy a. 


.V\) 


Copyright, rgor, 
by 

THE 

Hbbeg IPresa 












Afloat with Old Glory 































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Benjamin Warren, my brother and lifelong 
friend, shipmate in our boyhood’s days, Lieuten¬ 
ant in the 6th Mass. V. I., of Baltimore fame, 
Captain in the 26th Mass. V. I., first commander 
of Fort St. Phillip after its surrender to the 
United States forces, and active participant in 
perilous service from the beginning to the end 
of the Civil War,—allow your name to be in¬ 
scribed on this page as a token of a love, un¬ 
broken and increasing during more than seventy 
years of life’s vicissitudes, between yourself and 
your brother, 


THE AUTHOR. 
























































































NOTE 

The United States ship of the line Columbus 
sailed from New York June 4th, 1845, on a voy- 
age around the world, visiting Rio de Janeiro, 
Canton, Amoy, Japan, Manila, the Hawaian Is¬ 
lands, Callao, Valparaiso, Monterey, San Fran¬ 
cisco and many other intermediate ports. The 
time occupied was two years and nine months. 
The scenes and incidents of the cruise form the 
groundwork of this poem, which was begun and 
nearly completed on the deck of the Columbus. 
It has been revised by the author and is here pre¬ 
sented as a memorial of times and experiences 
now passed never to return. 















. 























* 































































H. V. Warren 








BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 


Rev. Henry Vallette Warren was born in New 
England and inherited a spirit of adventure 
which was stimulated by the traditions of that 
locality, the result being his enlistment in the 
United States Navy while yet a lad. He visited 
South America, the East Indies, China and Japan 
some years before the opening of the latter coun¬ 
try to the world. He participated in the opera¬ 
tions of the navy during the Mexican War. 

On quitting the navy he resumed his studies, 
taught school in Nezv England and the West for 
some years, and for the last four decades has been 
a minister of the gospel, yet never losing his in¬ 
terest in the life of his early choice on the broad 
blue sea. 


THE PUBLISHERS. 































































- 







PREFACE 


Afloat With Old Glory is a sea-book as unique 
in matter as in form. It is not the conventional 
recital of adventures and incidents of sea-life: 
these furnish a canvas for portraying the thoughts 
of a seaman who saw below their surface. Its 
outlook is from the standpoint of a man-of-war 
fifty years ago. Actually written on shipboard, 
it gives what may be called the undertone of life 
in the Old Navy, and its effect on the mind of a 
reflective sailor. Inasmuch as the conditions 
prevailing in the old United States sailing vessel 
will never be repeated, this memorial of such an 
experience is timely and will not soon be allowed 
to perish. An old shipmate writes: “ You have 
given such word-pictures of our sea-life that when 
reading the book I felt as if I were back at the old 
ship’s wheel with my eyes on the compass and the 
sound of the waves in my ears.” 


CONTENTS 

THE DEPARTURE 

PAGE 

Up Anchor! —Whither ? —Home’s Oblivion.—Sea 
Boy’s Musings.—Mother’s Cheer.—Blue Water. 

—The Sea Craze.—Result.—A Floating World. 

The Wanderer’s Home.—Blue Jackets All.—All 
Hands ! Sailor’s Skill.—Fine Arts.—Tattooing. 

—Reading.—Sunday.—General Muster.—Holy 
Hour.—The Doldrums.—Pattering Reef Points. 

—Land O !—Rio de Janeiro.—The Ships.—Sa¬ 
lutes. — Harbor. — Scenery. — Night. — Tropic 
Fruits.—Seaward.1-24 


THE EAST INDIES 

A Stiff Breeze.—Sail O !—The Stormy Cape.—Fly¬ 
ing Dutchman. — Superstitions. — St. Paul. — 
Tropic Verdure.—East Indian Seas.—Tropic Is¬ 
lands.—Coral Wonders.—The Schoolboy Theme. 

—Batavia.—God’s Country.—The Sky Pilot.— 

The Prodigal.—Making Sail.—The Peaceful 
Sea.—The First Death.—Three Volleys.—Under 
The Jack.—The China Sea. . . . 25-41 


SUNRISE LANDS. 

Wantung.—Bogue Forts.—Stripping Ship.—Refit¬ 
ting. — Canton River. — People afloat. — Gala 
Days.—News From Home.—A Sail!—All Well. 
Not Well.—Sea Blown Bubbles.—Avast!—Ad¬ 
venture.—Home.—Hope.—Music and Song.—. 


Contents 


IX 

PAGE 


Memories.—Sports.—Skating.—Sleigh Ride.— 
Youth’s Return.—Manila.—Death.—Mourning. 

—Away !—Plowmen.—Chusan.—Japan.—Yeddo 
Bay.—Armada.—Illumination.—A Cordon.—Re¬ 
jected.—Supplies.—Parting Guest.—The Sick 
Bay.—Victims.—Beware ! . . . . 42-70 


THE PACIFIC 

Stormy Seas.—Hawaii.—Elysium.—Honolulu.—A 

Marvel.—Welcome !—Heathenism.—Supplies.— 
Afloat.—The Peerless Sea.—Phosphoresence.— 
Calm.—Sportive Life.—Breeze O !—The Tow 
Rope!—Ocean’s Immensity.—New Constella¬ 
tions.—Juan Fernandez.—Andes’ Peaks.—Val¬ 
paraiso.—A Blight.—The Plateau.—The Essex. 

—“ No Honor Lost! ”—Breakers—Up Anchor! 

—Callao.—Earthquake Ruins.—War’s Relics.— 
Mountaineers.—Lima.—Street Rivulets.—The 

Rimac.—Don Martin.—The Alarm.—The Chase 
and Leap. — Cathedral. — Plaza. — Fountain. — 
Gateway.—All Aboard! .... 71-96 

THE BLOCKADE 

Ho! for Mexico!—Consolation.—Drill.—The Bat¬ 
ter}'. — Boarders ! — Firemen ! — Carbineers ! — 
Monterey.—The Old Missions.—Fremont.—The 
Camp.—Activity.—Anchorage.—Ashore.—Fish¬ 
ermen Away !—San Francisco.—A Long Delay. 

—The First Sailor.—Brave in Death.—Orion.— 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert.—Last Word.—Colum¬ 
bus.—Right On !—San Salvador.—Childhood’s 
Aspirations.—Cloud Ships.—Childhood Free.— 

A Wish!—Aerial Seas.—Spirit Sailors.—Land 
of Might-have-been!—The Tranquil Sea.— 
Time.—A Change.—Up Anchor All!—Booming 
Guns.97-116 


X 


Contents 


HOMEWARD BOUND. 

Pi 

Welcome Blue Water!—A Question.—A Lands¬ 
man’s Outlook.—Seasons.—Vast Waters.—Mo¬ 
notony.—A Double Lent.—Valparaiso.—Death’s 
Carnival.—Waiting Kindred.—The Grave’s Se¬ 
cret. — Up Anchor! — Where Away ? — Cape 
Horn.—Antarctic Days.—Changes.—Sea Birds. 
—Moonlight.—Falkland Islands.—La Plata.— 
Cape Frio.—Rio Harbor.—Pageantry.—Still 

Afloat!—The Last Anchor!—Open Sea !—Equi¬ 
noctial Line. — Amazon. — North Star. — Sar¬ 
gasso Sea.—Gulf Stream.—Retrospection.—A 
Noble Ship!—Snow Storm.—Pilot.—A Look 
Ahead.—Ties Dissolved.—Perchance !—A Mail. 
—Disillusion.—Final Hour.—Old Glory’s Landl 

ii 7 - 


Afloat With Old Glory 


THE DEPARTURE 

I 

Fair lay our ship in regal pride 
A monarch on the heaving tide, 

So trimly rigged in every part 
She seemed of more than human art, 

For not the keenest seaman’s eye 
A fault in all her form could spy. 

Her decks were manned by hardy crew 
As ever plowed the ocean’s blue,— 

With jest, and song, and mirth aglow,— 
Youth’s ruddy signet on each brow, 

And all impatient for the day 
That called them from their homes away. 
At last it came; the welcome sound 
Bid eyes to flash and hearts to bound, 

And shouts to rise from gleeful men— 

“ Welcome the open blue again! ” 

“ Up anchor all! ” the boatswain cried ! 

“ Up anchor all! ” his mates replied! 

The capstan manned, the nimble crew 
Hove the big anchor to the bow, 

The limp sails loosed and sheeted home— 
Our bows cut through a wreath of foam. 


2 


Afloat With Old Glory 


II 

Before we greet our homes again 
Long shall we plow the tossing main; 

Fair winds shall speed us many a day, 
Strong head-winds bar our chosen way, 

And spiteful squall and vicious gale 
Shall greet our ears with sullen wail. 

Our peerless flag on peaky spar, 

Of fiery stripe and burning star, 

In torrid air, in frigid sky, 

Shall languid droop or crackling fly 
While lone sea isles and peopled shores,— 
Wherever lookout’s eye explores,— 

Muster their hordes to pause and gaze 
In wonder where those colors blaze, 
Proclaiming in the nation’s van 
Columbia’s brotherhood of man! 

The big old sun’s resplendent flame 
Has not outrun Old Glory’s fame! 

Our splendid ship, majestic, slow, 

Filled her loose sails above, below, 

As pausing thoughtful near the strand, 
She grieved to quit her native land; 

But when she heard the sea-wind’s song 
Her vast bulk heaved,—she swept along,— 
The anchored light-house dared to spurn 
And Sandy Hook left far astern: 

Behind us land and mountain paled,— 
Straight for the far sea rim we sailed. 


The Departure 

The fading coastline changed its hue, 

And veiled its forms in hazy blue, 

Till all its outlines from the eye 
In dreamy distance passed away. 

We look astern: our eyes no more 
Greet the green bay and pictured shore; 
That burdened wave no vista fills, 

Vexed by a thousand cleaving keels; 

Gone is that maze, so strange, so vast, 
Of rigging formed and spar and mast, 
And lost each hill, and spire, and dome,— 
The solid land we call our home,— 

The convex world with watery wall 
Has hid in dark oblivion all! 


Ill 

Vainly we scan the pulsing plain, 

Our homes have melted in the main! 

Yet still upon the lowering sky 
Clings many a landsman’s saddened eye. 
The youth who leaves his boyhood’s home, 
And all he loves, the seas to roam,— 

As now he eyes the shoreless plain, 

What image fills his busy brain? 

In memory’s pictured hall appears 
A happy scene of other years. 

Too lightly held, too cheaply sold, 

For gains by boyish dreams foretold: 

He sees a mother’s falling tear, 

A sister’s sigh invades his ear; 


4 


Afloat With Old Glory 

A Father’s pleading words annoy 
The wild, unlistening, wayward boy, 

And thoughts of many a bygone day 
Along his pensive memory stray. 

How changed his view of what hath been 
Since it can never be again! 

What power shall teach us how to prize 
A happy home and kindred’s ties 
Before we blindly turn away 
Where all is strange: alas the day! 

So thought wakes thought, a vivid train 
Bright with our early joys again. 

The friends of youth, our friends for aye, 
Again their dearest traits display 
And all conspire to draw a sigh 
As glides youth’s dream forever by! 
Welcome the change to larger life, 

The girding for the waiting strife, 

The sense of power, the spirit free, 

The battle on!—reality! 


IV 

O loving mother pressed with care 
As thy loved son, than life more dear, 
The silken tether of his home 
Impatient tries, resolved to roam; 

Despair not though thy darling boy 
Bereave thy heart of present joy; 

Thy faithful counsels, prayers and tears 
Are mingled with his youthful years: 


5 


The Departure 

Nor time nor distance can erase 
The memory of those precious days. 

The world may raise its mocking din, 
And Sirens tempt his heart to sin; 

His treacherous heart o’ercome his will 
And taste the honied sin, but still 
Thy form, thy voice, thy potent prayer 
Still as of old are present there! 

Hope, trust and pray, till life is done; 
Thy hand and God’s, are on thy son! 


V 

The land we cleared; the freshening blast 
Tugged at tense sail and bending mast,— 
Piped loud through all our proud array, 

And woke old ocean’s minstrelsy. 

Our ship as bird or spirit brave 
Careened upon each yielding wave, 

Her snowy canvas swelled with pride 
Again to feel Old Neptune’s tide, 

And by each roll and plunge expressed 
Joy in the life she loved the best. 

The blue waves all kept holiday, 

And tossed aloft bright jets of spray, 

Writhed, curved and coiled, like twisting shell, 
Or spiral vine in tropic dell. 

New life begins: with heart aglow 
We glance around, above, below— 

The world of waters is our home: 

As soldier treads at tap of drum 


6 


Afloat With Old Glory 

We greet life’s fate, yield heart and will, 
With eager zest, for good or ill. 

Avast! then,—ship boy’s girlish sigh! 
Hope’s anchor holds—till seas are dry! 

The die is cast beyond recall— 

Our royal prize—earth’s watery ball! 
Welcome thou deep and boundless sea, 
With all thy hidden mystery! 


VI 

Through the vast hive a human swarm 
With rivalry routine makes warm. 

The mastman old, the antic boy, 

The sunbrowned salt, the landsman coy, 
Culled from earth’s every tongue and clan 
All types display of vagrant man. 

Yet all to kindred ways incline,— 
Companions on the fitful brine ; 

In labor one, in peril brave— 

True brethren of the peopled wave. 

From rough New England’s rocky hills 
Comes many a lad whose bosom thrills 
With weird adventure’s specious tale, 

Or crazed with passion to regale 
The eager eye, the hungry ear, 

With novelties to boyhood dear. 

What though a father’s wisdom pleads, 
What though a mother’s bosom bleeds, 

And sorrowing friends and kindred pray, 
And home’s sweet accents whisper, stay! 


7 


The Departure 

What though a thousand perils throng 
Around his wake, of loss and wrong, 

From torrid sun, from arctic frost, 

From rending gale and wreckers’ coast, 
Hunger and thirst, disease and pain, 

And sleepless nights and labor’s drain, 
Augmented by despotic sway, 

And untold freaks of tyranny, 
Blasphemous speech, companions vile, 
And rags and wretchedness the while 
Life’s poor reward; All, all are vain ! 
Welcome the worst of wreck and pain! 
Shall danger thwart youth’s daring will? 
He pants to test the power of ill! 

So, once afloat, ill fates abide; 

His manhood drifts with wind and tide 
Till, worn and broken, poor and old, 
Despoiled of strength and youthful mold, 
Regret, remorse, and grim despair, 

Make in his heart their hideous lair, 

And ceaseless chant the taunting strain— 
“ As mortals sow they reap again.” 

Thou too, O man! must reap thy grain 
At harvest home, in joy or pain! 


VII 

Old Albion, moored by northern mere. 
With convoy vast of islands near, 
Rears many a tar in collier grim, 

In fishing smack, in liner trim, 


8 


Afloat With Old Glory 

In Indiaman, in ship of line, 

No royal banner’s folds confine. 

The eager soul no monarch bars 
From realm illumed by freedom’s stars: 

To manhood’s deathless instinct true, 
Wherever floats the starry blue, 

Old ocean’s sons a portion claim 
Beneath the stripes of light and flame! 

A huge three-decker! how shall pen 
Depict her horde of unlike men, 

Gleaned from all lands whose surfy shore 
Is vocal with the ocean’s roar? 

The rough Norwegian, prompt in need, 

Is topmate with the hardy Swede 
And wizard Finn, whom salts declare 
Can do what mortals may not dare,— 

Can royals furl in tearing gale 
Nor touch with hand the flapping sail! 

The German, Dane and Russian grim, 
Uncouth in tongue, alert in limb, 

With Scotchmen strive in contest warm 
On quivering shroud and backed yardarm. 
Green Erin’s sons with wit and song 
Enliven every midwatch throng; 

The Frenchman, gay as tropic sky, 

The Spaniard, dark with flashing eye, 

The Portuguese, whom none can know, 
Time honored feuds and strifes forego, 

And side by side as messmates share 
Growls, jests and rations:—spicy fare! 
Some in Italian valleys born 


9 


The Departure 

Play Yankee airs on pipe and horn, 

And even Turkey yields a son 
To man our battery’s choicest gun. 

From Otaheite’s wave-washed gem, 

And far Owyhae’s foamy hem, 

Like drifting spume on ebbing tide, 

Grim want and chance their only guide, 
The friendless, houseless exiles come, 
Their one desire a wave-tossed home; 
And homes they find with gangway free 
To every wanderer of the sea; 

Not Congo’s skin or crispy hair 
Is greeted with a challenge there. 
Outnumber these, full two to one, 

Our free-born men, each gallant son 
A hero’s heir>—with oft a name 
Linked with our nation’s early fame; 
Proud of his land and proud to wear 
The blue, the anchor and the star; 

Proud of his station at his gun 
And of his part in duty done: 

We hold the splendid past secure— 

Such heroes make our future sure! 


VIII 

“What brings them here?” life’s partial ways 
Ever divide: each wight obeys 
His angel’s frown, or beck, and turns 
Where shadows gloom, or lovelight burns. 


IO 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Who laid thy life-path, querist, say! 

Chose you that course one happy day 
All else rejecting? Backward glance 
And own thy debt to circumstance! 
Boyhood has heard adventure’s tale,— 
Exultant spreads the venturous sail: 

Home has no charm to set him free 
Who feels the mystery of the sea! 

Men missing manhood’s happy gain 
Of prosperous days: made half insane 
By loss and disappointment’s sting,— 

Blind to the solace hope may bring,— 

Men blighted by their home’s eclipse, 

Or thwarted by envenomed lips, 

From bitter world and record flee 
To seek oblivion on the sea, 

Where, record, kindred, name unknown, 

In Babel’s crowd they live alone; 

Alone they die when all is done, 

Life’s dismal secret told to none. 

But more respond to nature’s cry— 

Ho! hungry mortals,—toil or die! 

Hail favored man whose eager hands 
Grasp labor’s boon! Thrift, sordid, stands 
To blast the toiler, scant of skill, 

Who seeks a workman’s place to fill! 

Wo! wo! befalls the needy clan 
The world needs not, but lays its ban 
On human nature’s prime desire,— 

A friendly shelter, food and fire! 

Welcome the housed, the full, the clothed,— 


The Departure 11 

The houseless, lean and bare are loathed: 
From the crammed homes of men they flee 
For succor to the kindly sea, 

And make the time-worn adage plain,— 

They change their place and keep the pain. 


IX 

All hues and tongues a refuge find, 

Their native costume left behind: 

Arrayed in shining navy blue 
At drum-beat for the day’s review, 

No prying eye or quizzing tongue 
Detects an alien in the throng. 

Toil danger, want and treacherous sea 
Assert a stern democracy: 

When yawns beneath a hungry wave 
Who scans the hand outstretched to save! 
Our twice four hundred jolly tars 
Claim kinship with the stripes and stars! 

On swaying yard, at booming gun, 

At weary watch, which none may shun; 

In crash of tempest, stress of gale, 

In reefing, furling, making sail, 

Find tasks that try nerve, strength and skill: 
Who stands the test with ready will 
Wins the proud boon of honest fame 
To crown with worth his humble name; 
What higher prize can knighthood yield, 
While thousands gaze, on bannered field! 


I 2 


Afloat With Old Glory 


X 

A world we are, afloat, afar 
From kindred worlds, a wandering star! 
A needy world: the cunning hand 
Of every art our needs demand. 

Each morning hour the tars begin 
Along the decks their various din. 

The noisy cooper drums his tune 
On leaky breaker’s iron zone; 

The carpenters with line and plane 
Dress taper spars of toughest grain, 
And ashen oars, with shapely grace. 

To sweep the water’s wavy face; 

The copper-smith, in smut and moil, 

On pumps and pipes spends endless toil; 
The rope-machine, with lusty will, 
Incessant sounds its noisy trill; 

The armorer’s forge like Etna glows; 

His anvil rings with stalwart blows, 
As ringbolt huge and tackle hook 
Take form and curve beneath his stroke. 
Look fore and aft, or where you will, 
Mysterious tricks of sailor skill 
Go deftly on: wise tars employ 
Their lifetime lore with secret joy 
In strapping blocks-—a cable’s splice, 

A hawser’s bend,—some quaint device 
For manrope’s many-stranded maze,— 
Turk’s-headed, pointed unknown ways: 
While gaskets, mats, and chafing gear, 


The Departure 13 

And all the endless strain and wear 
Of rigging, boltrope, tattered sail, 

Claim cares and toils that never fail. 


XI 

Nor these alone the hours employ 
Of greybeard salt and sailor boy 
Who the primeval craft pursue 
On snowy frocks and jackets blue, 

Or platting grasses’ pliant spray 
For jaunty hat with ribbon gay. 

The artist plies his skill and grace 
Tattooing lines, no years efface, 

On rounded arm or broad, bare breast,— 

A volant eagle’s lordly crest; 

Hope with her anchor, Freedom’s shield, 

Old Glory’s folds and starry field, 

Initials, birth-date, Cross Divine; 

Perchance some precious name’s outline 
Whose secret bides with one alone 
Till memory, thought and hope are flown. 

“ Barbarian fools! their forms to mar, 

Like Zealand’s chiefs, with inky scar! ” 
Hold, virtuous friend! Hope’s steadfast form 
Heartens the soul in direst storm; 

Proud of his flag, its starry glow 
Gleams on his breast for friend,—or foe! 
That secret name may courage lend 
When the sore heart most needs a friend; 
Birth-date and name make dumb appeal 


14 Afloat With Old Glory 

When the dead lips no clew reveal; 

And Calvary’s Cross may haply crave 
And win, on alien shores, a grave. 

Not pictured freaks! these markings lend 
Their pathos to the sailor’s end! 

“ Muse they on death, like cloistered nun ? ” 
Landsman, avast! the picture done 
Once for all time, the sailor sings 
Like bird that soars on happy wings. 
Himself, his ship, in placid day 
He dresses for the stormy fray: 

When mind and skill have done their best 
Fear is dismissed: God does the rest 
When the death-laden gale comes on! 

Hast thou, O Landsman, wiser done? 


XII 

“ What groups are these ? ” Since time began 
Has busy, curious, patient man 
Doted on tasks whose art and skill 
Alone reward his tireless will: 

Thro’ all the long-drawn labor lives 
The joy the finished triumph gives. 

One slowly builds with plodding care 
A model warship—wondrous fair,— 

From truck to keel a faultless form 
As ever battled wave and storm. 

One wreaths a lanyard’s twisted strands-— 
A tangled coil in landsman’s hands,— 

But to a seaman’s practiced eye 


The Departure 15 

A master-piece no price can buy! 

Some geniuses their taste regale 
On tooth and bone of shark and whale; 

On rosy conch-shells sounding whorl, 

On irised curve of fairy pearl 
Transformed to shapely brooch or ring 
And many a rare and labored thing, 

Etched, polished, kept for unknown use 
Or souvenir of a famous cruise. 

So toil the tars for labor’s sake,— 

Dear soothing balm for hearts that ache! 

So God his universe sustains: 

So man his origin explains. 

Near some brisk reader closely cling 
The silent tars, a charmed ring, 

While Dickens’ mirth and Cooper’s tale 
Challenge the listening crowds—All hail! 
On sea or land,—or where you will, 

Our toils and sports are human still. 


XIII 

Tis Sabbath morn; six bells have rung; 
Peajackets all aside are flung; 

Rough, tatooed legs and arms are bared,— 
All hands for scrubbing decks prepared. 
Some snugly trice the coiling gear; 
Waisters the fore-hatch tackle clear; 
Forthwith ascend from dingy hold 
Buckets and fixtures manifold, 

And holystones and flinty sand 


16 Afloat With Old Glory 

From Coney Island’s surfy strand. 

All decks afloat! Astir all hands! 

Of each his task the hour demands. 

Wo! we! betide the luckless drone 
Who shirks the lively holystone! 

A bucket’s contents, swift and chill, 

Quickly persuades the wavering will, 

And few who once the lesson learn 
Again require the teaching stern! 

The brooms and stones, with gritty sand, 
Grind clean and smooth each curving band 
That marks each plank and pitchy seam 
Until like jet and snow they gleam: 

Nor cease the tars till belted mast, 

The capstan’s head of ponderous brass, 
Each ringbolt huge, each pike of steel,— 
The binnacle, the spangled wheel, 

Belaying pins* and nice design 
On hatch and rail, with silvery shine, 

In morning’s sunlight flash and burn,— 
Sign of the Sabbath day’s return. 


XIV 

To quarters beat the noisy drums; 
Prompt at the call each sailor comes 
In snowy white and shining blue, 

For muster strict and stern review, 
As round the capstan, one by one, 


*7 


The Departure 

They pass the ordeal none may shun. 

If seas are smooth and skies are fair 
We rig the church for praise and prayer. 
For seats we range the capstan’s bars 
On match-tubs low and vacant spars; 

A shot-box pulpit deftly made, 

With bunting’s drooping folds arrayed, 
Prayer Book and Bible all in place, 
Announce arrived the hour of grace. 
Responsive to the boatswain’s call 
The tars abaft the mainmast fall, 

And gather near the spangled stand 
With heads all bared, a reverent band. 
From gunroom, wardroom, cabin, come 
Officials gay with lace and plume,— 

Belted marines with burnished crest, 
Faultless for gala Sabbath dressed. 

In solemn robes, with serious face, 

The Chaplain seeks the sacred place; 

His soft, slow syllables of prayer 
Fall gently on each waiting ear,— 

“ The Lord His Holy Temple fills! ” 

The startling thought each murmur stills, 
And, as the solemn accents fall 
Like music tones, the hearts of all 
Confess the strange, subduing power 
Of sacred truth and holy hour. 

A transient gleam of good! alas! 

Dim glances meet the Spirit’s glass! 

Of precious truth, on land or sea. 

Forgetful hearers all are we! 


18 


Afloat With Old Glory 


XV 

Vain were the task to follow on 

Our bark through changing calm and storm, 

For fickle winds will rage and sleep 

And rule with sportive power the deep; 

No mood less welcome than the lull 
Of death that broods the glassy swell, 

And binds the ship with unseen chain 
A restless prisoner on the main, 

Plunging and rolling to and fro 
As tortured by internal throe, 

And flapping every useless sail, 

That woos in vain the sleeping gale. 

In solemn midnight, still and clear, 

The reef points patter on the ear 
So like a roof when beat with rain 
Our musings bear us home again. 

Hail happy time! in night’s still hour 
To listen to the murmuring shower, 

When falls above our mossy loft 
The muffled drops, subdued and soft; 

So sweet the lullaby they sing 
It frees the spirits’ festive wing 
To float away in fragrant air 
Filled with delights of dreamland fair. 

So we in boyhood’s happy day 

Well knew enchantments’ mighty sway! 

And so in after time we found 
Remembered music in the sound. 

Mysterious power! those memoirs all 


l 9 


The Departure 

The pattering reef points now recall; 

They float through many a dainty dream 
As fair as spring in morning’s beam, 

And friends, and home, and love- and tears,— 
The treasured gems of all the years, 

Conspire to charm the sea boy’s brain,— 

Alas! how keen the waking pain! 


XVI 

Days passed: the ocean we had spanned; 
Rose to our view a foreign land 
In the dim mist of distance veiled 
Which all its rugged lines concealed. 
Cape Frio’s headland rends the veil; 
Piled mountains rear their rocky mail; 
Their peaky tops, afar and near, 

Like guards on fortress wall appear. 


Mark now, how wild the pulses fly 
As stranger shores first greet the eye! 

How every stripling, ocean child 

Scans those blue mountains, vast and wild, 

Till in mid air they rise and swim, 

As keenest vision waxes dim! 

We backed our sails till morning’s ray 
The distant vapors burned away, 

Then at our peak our banner flew,— 

The quivering stripes and twinkling blue,— 
Our guns with thunder shook the sky, 


20 


Afloat With Old Glory 

The hills in thunder gave reply; 

We braced our yards and bore away 
To enter Rio’s placid bay. 


XVII 

We passed the cone, to seaman’s eye 
A noble landmark, bold and high; 

Huge walls we passed and fortress mound 
With ranking cannon grimly crowned; 
Brazil’s proud flag drooped fold on fold,— 
The crown, the cross, the green, the gold; 
We joined a fleet that anchored lay, 

From Britain, Spain and far Norway: 

Old Holland’s flag was gleaming there,— 
The Frenchman’s wooed the drowsy air: 
Three three mizzen peaks exultant flew 
The white, the red, the starry blue, 

In ripple, wave and gorgeous roll:— 
Mysterious sign! each sailor soul 
Saw home’s dear land, supremely fair, 

Smile in Old Glory’s splendor there! 

The plunging anchor smote the waves 
That flashed like snow: as cyclone raves, 
Raved through the hawse the mighty chain 
That held,—as holds the charger’s rein. 
Our sails collapsed; foot, leech and clue 
Aloose on stay and yardarm blew; 

Nimbly aloft the topmen ran,— 

Like sparrows lighting on a span 
Of drooping wire, the reckless tars 


21 


The Departure 

Dotted the booms and taper spars,— 

Like magic of Arabian tale, 

Taut was each rope and furled each sail! 

A burst of music, loud and clear, 

Columbia’s “ Hail,” thrilled heart and ear; 

Our ponderous guns with crashing sound 
Again awoke the hills around; 

From ship, fort, city o’er the tide 
Gay visitors in barges glide, 

In naval garb, in martial sheen, 

Spangled and starred with gold and green, 
With ladies fair,—that gladness bring 
Like laughing flowers in blithsome spring,— 
Aflame with flags and pennons gay— 

The pageantry of gala day! 

A passing show, a pomp displayed 
By warriors grim in masquerade. 


XVIII 

What mortal skill shall paint the scene, 
Rio! thy hills of quivering green! 
Where artist long might feast his eye 
On peaks whose heads invade the sky, 
In fireclouds robed:—at night’s return 
The tropic lightnings ceaseless burn. 
Where lower slopes the mountain side 
Redundant nature flaunts her pride; 
Strange plants and vines luxuriant creep 
Round creviced rocks and dizzy steep, 
And drape the slope in greenest hue 


22 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Beneath dim crag and heaven’s bright blue. 
And lower still the rugged ground 
Juts forth in rock and bushy mound 
With convent perched upon its crest,— 

A lonely height for vestal’s rest. 

Around the building’s massive towers 
Are tangles vast of trees and flowers 
That screen the pile from prying sight, 

Save old bell tower and flecks of white 
That glimmer through the sylvan shroud 
As gleams the moon through fleecy cloud. 

XIX 

Oh! could you view this glassy tide 
Where ships of every navy ride, 

Where every blazoned flag appears, 

Fraught with the nations’ storied years, 

And deeds of martial valor done 
Wherever glows the circling sun, 

Till burning pictures throng the brain 
And the world’s drama lives again 
In forms of life, in hues of flame,— 

Man’s causeless, endless, maddening game! 
Welcome the day of war’s decline! 

When spears shall prune the trailing vine, 
Swords yield the share their burnished steel, 
And foes the ties of kinship feel! 

A lovelier scene when sinks the sun, 

When ruder sounds of day are done,— 

When pours the moon her mellow light 


2 3 


The Departure 

On stately ship and water bright, 

And breezes from the mountain side 
Sow thick with stars that wondrous tide,— 
When far-off music, soft and clear, 

Comes stealing to the listening ear,— 

When, one by one, each vessel’s bell 
Peals solemnly the midnight knell, 

And sentries pass the thrilling call 
In guardian tones, “ All’s well! ” “ All’s well! ” 
When dawn attests the coming sun, 

With stunning crash the morning gun, 

And rattling drums the silence mar; 

Night’s soothing music flies afar,— 

Our dreamy fancies end their play,— 

Awakes at once the jarring day. 

What power can shield our transient joy 
One moment from the world’s annoy! 


XX 

In tropic climes, this earth around, 

Can one to match thy wealth be found, 

O Rio! rich in fruits untold,— 

The orange, bright as glowing gold,— 
The cocoanut, whose milky spring 
To ebbing strength will flood-tide bring,— 
Bananas fair in clustering sheen, 
Enclosed in rind of gold and green,— 
Pineapples, limes, a dainty feast; 

Alike to eye and raptured taste; 

Thy fruitage fair, O tropic vales, 


24 Afloat With Old Glory 

With wondrous power each sense regales. 
But haste away! the time has come 
When we must seek our watery home: 

Fair gales have wakened from their sleep,— 
Bright skies invite us to the deep: 

In lands enchanted brief our stay! 

Old Neptune beckons us away! 


THE EAST INDIES 
- I 

At cathead grim our anchor hung, 
Wide to the winds our sails were flung; 
In stately grace, majestic, free, 

We plunged into the tumbling sea! 
Our gallant ship with instinct true 
Felt the wild waves that wilder grew, 
Her giant form upreared with pride 
And dashed the hissing foam aside, 
Now wreathed in spray of rainbow hue, 
Now white as frost on wintry bough. 

As the brave seabird, tempest borne, 
Rises and sinks amid the storm, 

So reeled our ship her sides to lave 
In wild Atlantic’s drenching wave! 


II 

Due eastward heads our wheelman now, 
Where winds and waves no truce allow, 
Where squadron’s torn by angry gale 
Stagger beneath their shortened sail. 
Our staunch three-decker tore a way 


25 


26 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Thro the vast waters’ angry fray, 

Crushed the big waves with plunge and roll 
Unswerving from her helm’s control, 

Till colder winds from icy seas 
Rudely dismissed the tropic breeze, 

Roused far and near the mighty boom 
Of polar storm whose solemn gloom 
Above, below, around, we saw, 

And felt the elemental war. 


Ill 

We greeted gallant fleets that bore 
Homeward the wealth of orient shore,— 

Silks, gems and pearls of price untold 
Weighed in an even scale with gold; 

And brave old craft whose daring sail 
Marauds the home of maddened whale. 

Was knighthood’s nerve a nobler boon 
Than his who plunged the keen harpoon, 
When frenzied flukes mixed boiling sea, 
Lance, lines, boats, men, in wild melee? 

On flew our ship: her plunging bow 
Neared the famed Cape where tempests blow, 
In teeth of storm where helm and sail, 

Tho’ manned by skill, can scarce prevail. 

Still flew she on: her rolling sides 
Were laved in Good Hope’s massy tides 
Whose solemn march, sublimely grand, 
Seems like the swell of moving land 


The East Indies 


27 


As ridges vast, and concaves, form 
Beneath the strong Antarctic storm. 
Behold! a mile-wide valley bends! 

See now! that vale a mountain stands! 
Look up! the billows round us rise,— 
Their curving tops are in the skies; 
Again, we rise on billowy brow, 

The waters slope afar, below! 

Herein is motion’s mystery,— 

The heave and yawn of mighty sea,— 
A universe of awful power, 

And man, the phantom of an hour, 

At his wits end, and fate alone 
Usurps the seat of mind o’erthrown, 
Confounding sight, and sense, and will, 
Where nothing is an instant still, 

But for the mighty hearts that glow 
In brave old tars who challenge wo! 


IV 

Wild are thy gales with weird alarms 
To thrill the heart, thou Cape of Storms! 
When leering through the gloom of night 
Pale phantoms chill our blood with fright; 
When rushing on in rending gale, 

The Fying Dutchman crowds all sail, 
Manned by his crew of spectres grim, 
With eyeless skull and bony limb! 

Wild are thy nights, with terrors wild, 


28 


Afloat With Old Glory 

To superstitious ocean child; 

Lost spirits ride each billow’s crest; 
Spectres rush by on every blast, 

And swooping flap the pallid wing, 
While rain, winds, waves, a chorus sing! 
Still, tis a lifelong joy to see 
One midnight sea’s wild revelry! 


V 

These sights and sounds yield fruitful theme 
Of haunted ship, and goblin grim, 

Of mermaids’ voice, and spirits’ cry 
That haunt the wave: they wildly fly 
And scream, in seabirds’ spectral form, 
Piercing the tumult of the storm,— 

We think perforce of shipwrecked men, 

Half hear their drowning shriek again! 

With close-reefed wing, like frigate’s sail, 
They tireless breast the mighty gale, 

Or curving down the hollow wave 
Seem seeking out a seaman’s grave. 

O wiser landsman! what if thou 
A sea-life lone had’st lived till now! 

Where then thy wealth of knowledge fair ? 
Thy world of secret truth laid bare? 

Thy steady nerve of science born? 

Of lowly tars, thy lofty scorn? 

Where then thy mind from spectres free, 
And all thy fine philosophy! 


The East Indies 


29 


VI 

With bending mast and straining shroud, 

Our ship the foamy furrow plowed 
Where St. Paul’s isle its peak uprears, 

Sombre and sad with briney tears, — 

A mighty pile no step can scale, 

Buttressed with adamantine mail, 

Where rush, and foam, and spray, and roar, 
Encircle all the wave-beat shore. 

Rude storms assail, but vainly all, 

To fret and wear that seagirt wall. 

Forever firm its base shall stand 
As builded by Almighty Hand, 

And silent in the lonely deep 
Millions of midnight watches keep! 

A sentry grey whose flowing shroud 
Is formed by many a changing cloud, 

While lighter mists, in sunlit bloom, 

Deck his bold crown with martial plume. 

On sailed our bark: the passing day 
Saw Paul’s isle fading far away; 

When next the sun, in fiery red, 

Rose burning from his watery bed, 

Naught but the blended sea and sky 
Greeted the gaze of wistful eye. 


VII 

Northeastward on the wave afar 
The wheelman cons his pilot star 




3° 


Afloat With Old Glory 

As on we sail, and ever on, 

Till warmer seas our keel has won, 

Where thunder, lightning, cloud and rain, 
Exulting rule their vast domain,—. 

Where tropic isles’ eternal spring 
Inspire the sea-worn heart to sing; 

Where flowering branches trail the tide* 
Wasting their odors far and wide; 

And brooding clouds of forest green, 

Flooded and steeped in noontide sheen; 

And tinted sky, and ocean blue, 

Yield shades and forms forever new. 

Soft breezes blow,—warm rain distills,— 

Oh, how unlike our own cold hills, 

Our bleak east winds, our rugged clime,— 

This glimpse of earth’s unfallen prime! 

Old Eden’s slopes and vales return! 

Old Eden’s colors round us burn! 

Oh! speaks in truth the ravished eye— 

Or is it all a phantasy! 

Some mirage of the tricksy air,— 

A fleeting dream, a vision rare> 

Reflected from the peerless clime 

Whose shores gleam not with sands of time! 

Oh, if such scenes can linger here, 

How must the Better World appear! 


VIII 

So near the sea the verdure springs 
That round its roots the wavelet sings; 


The East Indies 


3 1 


For barrier firm appears no strand, 

No beach of shells and starry sand 
But pedant bough and trailing vine 
With seaweeds sombre green entwine,— 

A tangled maze of network fair, 

In water part, and part in air. 

Old Java looms a glorious isle 
With splendor in her floral smile; 

Her flagrant breezes softly play 
Through groves whose garlands bloom alway; 
Sumatra, too, with wasteful hand 
Bespangles all her spicy land, 

With form, and tint, and light and shade, 
That ever charm and never fade: 

Nor these alone: fruits, luscious, rare. 
Abundant, claim no mortals care. 

O tropic isles! what men aspire 
To claim thy wealth beyond desire? 

What happy people see expand 
Their birthright in this fairy land! 

Ho, sea boy! loathing meagre fare; 

Worn with thy constant night watch care; 
Tired of the sound of tumbling foam, 

Here wilt thou seek a restful home? 

No fairer clime woos tropic gale! 

None deadlier broods the Upas vale! 


IX 

Mid these enchanted isles our stay 
A vision seems: they pass away 


3 2 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Like cloudflecks from the radiant west 
Of amber, gold, and amethyst. 

They pass, but other gems appear, 

In distance dim, and clinging near, 

Of sunlit blush, of greenest dye— 

A sky above,—below a sky, 

Between, a wavy, restless line,— 

O wondrous world! O thought divine! 
We, sliding like a cloudlet white 
Along our track of viewless light, 

By gentle airs, on genial sea, 

Soon left them fading far alee, 

Like floating tufts of mossy grass 
On undulating sea of glass. 

But why attempt a tale to tell 
That fancy never formed too well; 

For all that ever bard has sung, 

And all the lore of traveller's tongue, 

Or witchcraft wild in fairy theme 
Would fail to paint this daylight dream. 


X 

Vain are dull words to bid one see 
The life that gleams in grove and tree, 
Whose gorgeous hues of fire and gold 
Bid rainbow tints turn dull and cold. 
Nor could a mortal’s power display 
The secrets of a coral sea 
Whose limpid depths in part reveal 


The East Indies 


33 


The miracle they still conceal. 

Moss, shrubs and flowers of growing stone, 
The caverned hall, the jewelled throne, 

The fortress tower, the turret fair. 

And many a shape of beauty rare, 

Festooned with sprays of tangled vine 
That waves and twists in deep-sea brine— 

O for some power to plunge the wave 
And all its unknown perils brave, 

And all the secrecy explore 
Of the mysterious ocean floor! 

Floats up that phantasy again 
Of caves not seen by living men; 

Of mermaids’ bowers where amber grows, 
Where the drowned sea-boy’s limbs repose. 
Shall all come true—that schoolboy theme— 
The hammock sleep—the midnight dream— 
The waking, storm, and wreck- and doom? 
Put by the thought! dismiss the gloom! 

Life, young and gay, exults,—replies, 

“ Whoever falls, I win life’s prize! ” 

The dead are dead:—the living sing 
As Hope expands her fearless wing. 

And yet what art of human hand 
Could build a sepulchre more grand ? 

What earthly loom or artist’s skill 
Could weave a pall so clinging, chill, 

As weed-veined water—that dense fold 
No hand can raise, no power control? 

Could fitter column ever rise 
Above the spot where manhood lies, 

Than coral rock, with branch and bloom, 


34 


Afloat With Old Glory 

To beautify the last, long home 
Where sailors rest in ocean’s bed 
Till earth and sea give up their dead? 


XI 

Mistclad Batavia’s lowland’s dun, 

Steaming with heats of tropic sun, 

With every feature strongly new, 

As on we sailed, came full in view. 

Vast canebrake marshes spread afar 
Like spears by millions ranked for war; 
Above, a mistcloud, pale and dim, 

Spread to the landscape’s farthest rim; 

At sunset, Jack o’lantern’s light 
Played witchcraft with the sultry night, 

Slow wending on its gruesome round 
As spirits haunt a burial ground. 

Those million spears! are warlike hosts 
By campfires massed!—grim, hostile ghosts ? 
Ay!—pale disease- forever nigh, 

With dimness veils the flashing eye; 
Miasmas dire, and poisoned air,— 

Death’s minions all, are active there, 

And, night and day, the dismal grave 
Gapes for her dead no skill could save. 

O who will risk his form to lay 
Forgotten in this sweltering clay 
When the old sea with kind refrain 
Invites our confidence again! 


The East Indies 


35 


XII 

“ Up anchor all! up and farewell 
Ye lands where men half naked dwell; 
Away on happy wings we flee, 

God’s Country is the land for me! ” 
Well said, O Sailor! Happy choice 
For worthy man ! Rejoice! Rejoice ! 

And note what makes thy home so fair 
And Orient islands thy despair; 

And note if, all this earth around, 

One solitary spot is found 

To satisfy sublimest life 

With mother, sister, child and wife, 

Save where God’s Book has shed its ray 
And brought the light of Christian Day! 
And thou, wise sceptic, pause and see 
Thy debt to One unknown to thee! 


XIII 

Tell if thou canst the secret spell 
That Eden brings where raged a hell 
Thro’ all the generations old, 

When Island Chiefs, in wars untold, 
Killed captured men. as hunters game, 
For feast infernal. Who shall name 
The fate of luckless, shipwrecked men 
On devil-haunted islands then! 

The wise old sailor knew the power 


36 Afloat With Old Glory 

That gave him life in awful hour 
When his good ship the coral’s fang 
Had gnawed and wrecked. A keener pang 
Pierced him as, struggling from the wave, 

He risked the island’s power to save. 

Low crouching in the tropic shade 
He scaled a hilltop*—saw displayed 
A valley wide with gardens green 
And groves and cottage homes between, 

And,—could it be! O joy to tell! 

A chapel spire! its Sabbath bell 
Rang out blithe music on the air— 

Not home itself was half so fair! 

He shouted back,— “ Shipmates! Good Cheer! 
The Old Oahn Sky Pilot’s here! ” 


XIV 

Life, food and safety,—love divine, 

The living flotsam of the brine 
Their welcome found. Nor this alone:— 
A sailor lad whose youth had known 
A Christian home’s supreme bequest, 

Yet roamed a prodigal unblest, 

Still dripping with salt sea spray 

And bruised and bleeding, made his way 

Up to the chapel’s open door 

Whence issued music, heard before 

In early home,—the words,—the tune*— 

“ Old Ortonville.” A day in June, 

Long years ago, returned again,— 


The East Indies 


37 


Home, father, mother, friends,—and then 
The girl who sang, young, pure and fair,— 
She seemed an angel singing there! 

The vision fled. The holy hour 
Thrilled his rapt soul with awful power, 
Revived new manhood’s noble form, 

Swept by the Spirit’s mighty storm. 

And yet! And yet! O shame to tell! 

Wide travelled men who know right well 
The Teachers of the Holy Name 
Return to curse them and defame! 


XV 

A timely wind from off the land 
Our cordage thrilled, our hot brows fanned; 
The glass forsook the water’s face,— 
Dimples and tremors filled its place; 

Idlers, for once, are all aglow, 

And lubbers rushing to and fro! 

From top, and yard, and deck, and stay,— 
Aswarm like bees in flowery May,— 

The notes, confused, of sailor din 
Through all the rigging’s maze begin. 

The speaking trumpet’s brazen throat 
Blares fore and aft its roughest note; 

The creaking block, the “ Yo heave O! ” 
The boatswain’s challenge, “ Start and go! ” 
The halliard’s roar, the tramping feet, 

The flapping sail, the rushing sheet, 

The rising yard, the swaying boom, 


38 Afloat With Old Glory 

The gurgling bow in beds of foam, 

Are sounds more sweet than music’s strain 
As seeks our ship the friendly main! 

Seen through the night her fleecy form 
A spirit seems that haunts the storm, 
Enlarging as the billows rise 
Her misty form to mountain size, 

Then, reeling, sinking from her height 
Seems vanishing from mortal sight. 

The tumult ceased: like noiseless time 
We left astern the infected clime, 

And when dull midnight’s bell had tolled 
Batavia’s fogs far leeward rolled, 

Where is thy sail, O man of skill, 

That bears thee from thy threatening ill! 
Where spreads afar that sunny sea 
Where burdens fall, and hearts are free! 

And where the final port—once won— 
Peace everlasting is begun! 


XVI 

Through sunbright seas our track has been,— 
Now sombre shades and glooms begin, 

And flitting forms from spirit land 
Foreshadow death’s intrusive hand. 

Nor falsely do these signs foretel 
The death stroke in the evening bell. 

A sailor’s stormy voyage is done,— 

Noon is surprised by setting sun! 

No more his clarion voice shall guide 


The East Indies 


39 


Our tossing ship on threatening tide; 

No more haul down the struggling sail 
When falls the shock of sudden gale. 
Hushed is his voice, and stilled the pain 
That tortured nerve and throbbing brain. 
The frenzy of his latest strife 
Was the fit end of stormy life,— 

He shouted, as in gusty fray, 

With dying breath—“ Belay! ” “ Belay! ” 
The storm was hushed,—the spirit fled— 
The martial rites of honored dead 
Seemed poor and futile at the bier 
Where kindred shed no mournful tear. 

His manly form received its due,— 

Its pall the stripes and starry blue,— 

And when into the deep it fell, 

Three volleys pealed the last farewell! 
Think not, O sea! to claim thy prize, 
Though in thy keeping long it lies; 

This precious dust shall Christ demand 
When the last trump thrills sea and land,— 
So keep this clay, keep every shred, 

And then, O sea! give up thy dead! 


XVII 


Was the inconstant sea secure? 
From fatal envoy—safe, and sure? 
O not for us the healing wave! 
No ocean air has power to save! 


40 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Death’s vial, by divine decree, 

The angel pours on every sea! 

Not singly strokes of sorrow come; 

In groups we mortals meet our doom! 

Again a note of sadness fell 
On merry hearts from tolling bell, 

And the blue jack, with loving fold, 

Draped a stout sailor—silent—cold. 

O shipmate dear! what lot was thine 
So soon to sleep in ocean’s brine! 

For scarce had manhood’s days begun 
Than sank in night thy morning sun! 

As rainbows fade from mounting spray 
Faded thy fairest hopes away, 

Thy spirit joined the flitting band 
Whose footsteps press the unknown strand. 
I knew thee well when pleasure’s wiles, 
Enwreathed thy face with sunny smiles; 

I saw thee in thy later day, 

When pain had chased those smiles away; 
And when grew short thy latest breath 
I sadly saw thy cot of death; 

I saw thee plunge into thy grave 
And o’er thee close the hungry wave! 

His story ends: his cruise is done; 

In vain we mourn the widow’s son. 

Afar from home, from native land, 

No mother checked life’s wasting sand; 

No sister’s voice, in accents mild, 

Soothed his poor spirit’s visions wild,— 

But with rough wanderers of the wave 
He died, and found a sailor’s grave. 


The East Indies 


4i 


XVIII 

With wary eye, ahead, alee, 

We sail a sea of treachery! 

Where coiling winds and frantic gale 
Rend into shreds the hempen sail; 

Where naked ship, no single hour, 

Could breast the typhoon’s awful power; 
Bare mast and spar it sweeps away 
Like wind-blown chaff in wintry day. 

The elements with stubborn force 
Disputed long our chosen course, 

Yet, though the wind in fury blew, 

Obedient to her skillful crew, 

Our sea-boat reared her giant form 
Prouder as wilder raged the storm 
And clouds of foam hurled from her brow 
Like avalanche of mountain snow! 

Exult O man! thy skill sublime 
Winds, waves subdued, of every clime! 


SUNRISE LANDS 

I 

Once more we heard the land-bird sing, 

Rested aloft its weary wing 

And Wantung’s ruined fortress wall, 

Where green boughs wave and shadows fall, 
Revealed their spotty fronts of white 
Like snowclad pines in morning light. 
Ill-starred Celestials! Vantage ground, 

And flanking walls and bastion mound 
And antique guns disposed betwixt 
Huge blocks of masonry and fixed 
Immovable:—O what were they 
To match the foes of poor Cathay, 

When the old dragon flag, unfurled, 

Gave challenge to the Western World? 
Chained to their useless guns they found 
Their forts but tombs with ruin crowned. 
Crushed is their power: their gongs are dumb 
Their forts the soldier’s last, long home: 
Where once the silken flag blew free 
Wave in the breezes, bush and tree, 

Whose shadows trail on broken stones 
That cover their defender’s bones* 

A sordid power that wrought their wo, 

Might hurling right in overthrow,— 

42 


Sunrise Lands 


43 


Mammon the prize: thro’ all the years 
Power wrings from weakness blood and tears. 
Wo to thee England! Doom’s decree 
Has named a judgment day for thee; 

Nor fleets nor armies can avail 
To hold aslant God’s even scale. 

For every coin thy coffers hold, 

Gained by thy drug in Sinim sold, 

Thy glutted pouch shall vomit twain 
For curses blast thy guilty gain. 

Nor this alone: some set doomsday 
For each slain child of poor Cathay 
A goodly son of thine shall die: 

The sentence is decreed on high. 

Ho ! spoiler of the weakling lands ! 

As God is just the debit stands! 

Alas!—sad truth for thinking men,— 

Poor Sinim’s spoilers proudly then 
In sculptured tomb shall lie alone 
While blameless sons their wrong atone. 

And yet, O realm supremely brave, 

Where’er thy blazoned crosses wave 
Life is secure and man is free,— 

Long may thy squadron’s guard the sea! 


II 

With lazy winds we slowly glide 
Up the broad Canton’s yellow tide 
Alive with fleets from lands remote, 


44 


Afloat With Old Glory 

High masted, hugest hulks that float, 

And motley craft of varied form 
For weathering wave and tropic storm, 

And clumsy junks- uncouth and strange, 
Queer house-boat homes and boats that range 
The waves with nets for scaly prey,— 

Swift carriers racing leagues away, 

And centipedes, like living things, 

With five score oars for fins and wings,— 
Trade boats with curios stored within 
And splendid barge of Mandarin. 

The puny fleet,—like midget swarm,— 

Gave way before the warship’s form; 

A quiet nook our pilot found, 

Sheltered by hills and capes around, 

Two anchors dropped and, mooring fast, 
Safe guarded all from tide and blast. 

While thus secure our warship lies 
A busy hand each seaman plies; 

Each threadlike rope and taper spar,— 

Like spider’s web in ambient air-— 

Is beaded with the agile crew— 

O thrills not every heart to view! 

Yet fearless, thoughtless, I opine, 

As spider on his shining line! 

Down came the maze of running gear,— 
Sheet, halliard, brace, in swift career; 

From yard and boom each useless sail,— 
The jaunty spars, the network frail; 

Top and topgallant masts descend, 

And stays and backstays all unbend, 

Till like some time-worn, fortress wall 


Sunrise Lands 


45 


The lone hulk lay. dismantled all! 

O’er her vast length the moaning breeze 
Sang as of winter’s leafless trees, 

Or of the autumn’s saddening hour 
When frost has nipped the vineclad bower. 


Ill 

But see again, through netted shrouds, 
Masts, needle pointed, pierce the clouds, 
With yards across and cordage trim 
Like spider’s web on naked limb! 
Trimmed fore and aft in naval pride, 

She sits arrayed like winsome bride. 
Impatient to resume her way 
Amid the salt waves leaping spray. 

Like organ keys of jet and snow 
Gleam her grim ports—a curving row— 
Whence, ready charged for battle’s call, 
Loom threatening guns, a treble wall,— 
Those engines huge whose thunders fling 
The iron globe on ruin’s wing. 

And deadlier forms of war’s wild din 
Slumber that vessel’s hold within 
Which, kindled by a nation’s ire- 
Deal devastation, wreck and fire, 

When battle’s mask conceals the sun— 
And broadsides thunder, gun on gun,— 
When crystal waves blush red and glow,— 
What awful secrets they must know! 


46 Afloat With Old Glory 


IV 

O Canton River! where away 
Can mortals match thy quaint display 
Of floating craft, grotesque in build, 

With human freight so strangely filled! 

A peopled wave, from shore to shore, 
With boats by thousands: sail and oar, 

In every form, incessant plied 
Athwart the turbid rivers tide. 

Men, women, children,—every age, 

With the celestial heritage 
Of trailing cue, and slant set eyes, 

And faces tinged with yellow dyes,— 

All eager, active, keenly brave, 

To win subsistence from the wave! 

O wise celestials! boats with eyes 
To see their way, when darkening skies 
Bring on black night and joss-sticks burn, 
A glimmering spark, till day’s return, 
And all are safe! Who then shall say 
The man profane is wise as they? 

What contest sore of hand and brain, 

With cruel fate these men maintain, 

So many they; so hungry all-— 

The daily store so strangely small I 
They fetch, and carry, sell, and buy, 

They fish the depths for finny fry,— 
With scoop net skim the water’s face, 

And constant watch for every trace 
Of fuel, food, or thing of use 


Sunrise Lands 


47 


Their world of waters may produce; 

Their tiny boat their only home 
From infant days till death shall come. 
Where breathe the men whose lore and skill, 
From means so small, such wants can fill 1 
Nor this alone: on gala day 
The sportive feelings leap and play; 

With flaming hues, on stern, and bow, 

And stumpy mast, and slanting prow, 

Their boats like tulip gardens glow, 

And swarms of lanterns crown the show. 
Wise as our own, their noisy cheer 
With welcome greets the glad new year, 
When Chinese crackers,—millions strong, 
Their blissful jubilee prolong! 

Hail brothers all! your cracking toys 
Charm millions of our merry boys! 

Our July Day how dull and tame 
Without the sulphurous snap and flame! 


V 

Ten months’ routine has passed away 
Since sunset on our sailing day; 

No message since had reached our ear 
From home—no slightest word of cheer. 
Yet hope, to hungry hearts so true, 
Cheered us each day with promise new, 
Till one glad morn appeared a sail— 

A clipper strained by storm and gale> 


48 Afloat With Old Glory 

Her rigging bleached by wave and spray 
That drenched her decks for many a day. 

The morning breezes fondly rolled, 

In starlit curl and glowing fold, 

Columbia’s banner! glory’s sign! 

Long may those heaven-born colors shine! 
Each homesick heart the signal knew, 

And frenzy seized the shouting crew! 

“ News! ” “ news from home! ” mad voices 
cried: 

“ Hurra! ” a hundred throats replied ! 

“ Clear quick the boat! ” The tars reply— 

“ All ready! ” “ Lower! ” “ Ay, Ay! ” “ Ay, 

Aye!” 

The davit falls with fury rave 
Till kiss the keel and pouting wave; 

In mettle high the boat’s crew keen 
With oars erect in place are seen: 

“ Let fall! ” “ Give way! ” A sudden plash, 
Quick foaming whorls and oarblades flash, 

And on the tide the wave-borne car 
Trails its bright wake like shooting star! 

The brawny arms in concert strain, 

The ashen oarblades bend amain. 

The rowlocks groan in measured note, 

Then faintly die: the lessening mote 
Rests in the clipper’s sheltering lee, 

Receives her prize and, wild with glee, 

Flies homeward with her precious freight 
On which all gaze with eyes elate. 

Not long do they impatient stand,— 

The pouch despoiled, each address scanned, 


Sunrise Lands 


49 


Responsive to the shouted name 
The exulting tars their treasures claim! 

VI 

Who that has left his land and home, 

In alien lands and seas to roam, 

Has never felt the stress of care 
To know how friends and kindred fare? 
What will those anxious thoughts dispel 
Like the glad tidings, “ All is well! ” 
Strange is that missive’s secret power 
To tinge with fear man’s happiest hour; 
When the familiar script appears 
Foreboding joy, or, loss and tears! 

With throbbing heart and swimming eye, 
And lips that lack their rosy dye, 

He scans with eager glance the seal— 
What will its mystic page reveal? 

Thrice happy he whose message brings 
Good news on fortune’s friendly wings; 

In that glad hour, his cares outgrown, 

The phantoms of suspense all flown, 

Life throbs anew through every vein; 
Faint hope revives,—exults again! 

VII 

What scenes in alien lands shall cheer 
The eye, the heart, the listening ear, 

That hunger for the homelike joy 
Which cruel death and change destroy? 


5 ° 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Vain is the search: no ray appears 
To light the sailor’s coming years; 

No mother, brother* friend, no home,— 
What power shall check his aimless roam, 
Or gild with hope some coming day 
When toils and cares are passed away,— 
That dearest dream to seaworn tar, 

That cheers life’s darkness like a star! 

This hope dissolved, life’s dream is gone,—- 
He lingers in a world alone: 

Reckless alike of weal or wo, 

No pole star lures his needle now. 

Like drifting kelp he haunts the wave, 
Unprized his life, unshunned his grave. 
Mixtures like these are they which fill 
The sailor’s cup of good and ill, 

And never more deceitful scheme 
Fashioned the opium eater’s dream. 

Be wise, O boy! nor deem the sea 
From misery is ever free: 

The shipman’s pleasures envy not,— 

No dreamlike joy attend his lot; 

But hunger, sickness, cold and heat, 

And want, and loneliness, repeat 
Their record on life’s logbook where 
Grim danger’s eyes forever glare! 

Still sea-blown bubbles men pursue, 

Lured by their changing, cheating hue, 

And gain they not an airdrawn prize 
As rich as charms old Sindbad’s eyes? 

Good as his best, as fair, as vain: 

A drop of joy,—a sea of pain! 


Sunrise Lands 


5 1 


VIII 

Avast! you cry! what themes are these 
For men who tempt the raging seas! 

Bold men-of-war’s-men trained to dare 
The lightning on the dizzy spar! 

To clutch for life at slippery shroud 
In blackest night when, piping loud, 

The tempest roars and, rolling low, 

The yardarms pierce the tumbling snow 1 
Men breathing fire and battle smoke, 

When broadsides shatter ribs of oak,— 
Who board the decks of desperate foe 
With daring leap,—give blow on blow, 
Fierce thrust of pike, and cutlass clash, 
The carbine’s shot, and pistol’s flash-— 
The foemen yield! they strike! O hear 
The gallant victor’s ringing cheer! 

O valiant tars! your early fame 
Gave lustre to a nation’s name! 

Old Glory saw your valor then; 

It lives! it will exult again, 

And boom of gun and pealing bell,— 
Banners aflame and shootings tell 
The maddening joy that greets the brave,- 
Victorious on the ocean wave! 

IX 

Who are these men? what language runs 
Along the curving battery’s guns 


52 


Afloat With Old Glory 

As, cares dismissed* the dogwatch free 
Proclaims each day’s brief jubilee! 

Have graybeards salts no storied lore 
Of perils past on savage shore; 
Adventures strange in alien lands, 
Wreckings in ice, or burning sands, 

Of capture, torture and release 
From cannibals in southern seas? 

No story of barbarian cheer, 

Of smuggler, pirate, buccaneer,— 

No hairbreadth risk that tests the brave 
On lee shore, reef, by tidal wave, 

When men like demons do and dare 
As blood and thunder tales declare? 

Few themes like these have life or power 
To sway the thought of social hour: 

In sailor life what are they all 
But trivial things which none recall, 

Or horrors caged in memory’s cell 
With silence standing sentinel 
To guard for aye from eager ear 
The secret strangers may not hear. 


X 

Who are these men ? Not ours to know 
The secrets of their weal or wo; 

Time, change, caprice, misfortune, chance 
Have clasped their hands in witches’ dance, 
Each, casting in the caldron broth 
Life’s strengthening meat, or cheating froth. 


Sunrise Lands 


53 


Partaking all—they live—reply 
To each new task and toil—“ Aye! Aye! ” 
One at the Nile with Nelson knew 
A night of doom: with darkened view, 

In sulphurous smoke, his gun he aimed 
Sole where the Frenchman’s cannon flamed, 
And pulled an oar, when paused the fight, 

In blazing Orient’s awful light. 

And one, a veteran, cheery still, 
Outweathering battle, storm, all ill, 

Had seen the flash and heard the roar 
Of volleyed murder at Dartmoor. 

And one with Lawrence, ill-starred man, 

Saw grim misfortune’s cruel ban; 

Saw fate perturb the battle’s scale— 

The hero’s deathcry naught avail. 

One forehead bore a jagged scar 
From thrust of pike by British tar 
In Perry’s fight on Erie’s wave: 

He claims no place among the brave,— 

Dim is his thought of honor won,— 

We own and name him Valor’s Son! 

And one had seen war’s awful wreck 
Cumber the Frolic's splintered deck; 

Had hauled her riddled ensign down 
And linked his name with fair renown. 

(O luckless craft! grim irony 
Mocked at thy fate in naming thee!) 

And one had thridded pine-tree boles 
In quest of wary Seminoles 
Low crouching in the tangled grass 
In Land of Flowers—and death’s morass; 


54 


Afloat With Old Glory 

He carries to his latest hour 
Souvenirs of Osceola’s power. 

And one the Princeton's fatal gun 
Had sponged and rammed: his duty done, 

He stood aside:—a roaring blast— 

The awful tragedy was past! 

And one, a youth with sunny eye, 

Had seen the Somer’s victims die: 

Question him not! his lips are sealed 
On secrets that he will not yield. 

By chance or fate he was a part 
Of grewsome deed that chills his heart. 

And one with Wilkes had scanned the skies, 
Seas, shores, all life that swims or flies, 

In torrid and antarctic zone 
In quest of marvels—still unknown. 


XI 

Adventurous men! what kindly power 
Befriended them in peril’s hour! 

Crises of life! when, side by side, 

One hero lived, one darkly died 
And passed forgotten and unknown— 

O wise ones—why the difference shown? 
And why this silence brooding o’er 
Their lives and all their hidden lore? 

And why of all the past no glance 
In ours save word let slip by chance ? 

Not they the men to plague their kind 
With themes of life and death: their mind 


Sunrise Lands 


55 


Is closed and sealed against all claim 
Of valorous deed or noble name. 

Toil, danger, death, or what you will, 

Are common-place and duty still. 

Stories they tell, believe me, man, 

Full of strange life: the midwatch span 
Cuts short the tale, weird, racy, bold, 

As any Sindbad ever told: 

What tho’ scant life-truth adds its charm? 
It’s all a yarn.—Where lies the harm 
Of mingling fact with fiction’s tale 
One’s lonely shipmate to regale? 

So lubbers earn their windy fame,— 

May not Old Blowhard do the same ? 

Our sailor boys I know right well 
Loved on young life and sports to dwell; 
They loved to picture pleasures new 
In some glad day when hopes come true. 
Braggarts will boast: true men who roam 
Joy in the scenes of youth and home. 
Remembrance charms: hope’s beacons blaze 
Illuminating happy days. 

They picture early life’s return 
In sober age when, voyaging done, 

They anchor in some harbor near 

Old friends, old scenes and memories dear; 

No watch on deck ! no reefing sail— 

But all night in at last: all hail 
That sailor’s heaven—that joy supreme 
That glorifies his lifelong dream! 

As when brave Nelson, tempest-worn 
And battle-scarred and weary grown, 


56 Afloat With Old Glory 

Longed for a cot and garden trees 
And rest from war and stormy seas, 

Yet died mid din of battle’s wreck 
And carnage on his bloody deck. 

Thou too, Sir John! Alas for thee— 
Lost sailor of the Arctic sea, 

Turning in vain thy weary eye 
Where everlasting icefields lie, 

With thoughts of England, home and one 
Who waits for thee till life is done. 

Sealed be the mysteries that attend 
Thy fading hope, thy bitter end. 

Life’s lot foreseen, its end, its pain, 

What mariner would count it gain? 

Let hope light up life’s sombre sky 
He hails the venture,—“ Win or die! ” 


XII 

Our landmarks all are fading now, 

Light ripples murmur at our prow 
And lightly swelling in the breeze 
Our sails keep time with singing seas; 

Glad music at the evening hour 
Charms heart and brain with subtle power. 
Stirring the pulse with livelier beat, 

Waking to life the dancer’s feet, 

Waking the cheery notes of song 
With mighty chorus, loud and strong. 

All yield to music’s wondrous power,— 

All feel the witchery of the hour,— 


Sunrise Lands 


57 


All hearts dismiss their gloom and pain 
And revel in the present gain; 

And all exult, with spirit free, 

And catch the life of bounding sea 
And stirring song, so full of cheer 
Syrens enchanted list to hear! 

O blessed music; power divine! 

What wondrous ministry is thine, 

To cheer, to lift, to hearten man 
Maltreated by fate’s cruel ban! 

Hushed is the music,—sporting done, 

The silent nightwatch is begun: 

A youthful trio grouped alone 
Dismiss the moment’s lightsome tone; 
Their quiet eyes so pensive stray 
Among the hues of dying day 
It needs no quizzing to descry 
The scene that fills their musing eye; 

For when through clouds of gray and dun 
Blooms the red autumn of the sun, 

Visions appear of scenes and days 
That cheered when first we saw its rays. 
As dons the moon her pearly veil 
They listen to the nightwatch tale 
Prefaced with, “ On such night as this ”— 
Follows a theme of bygone bliss; 

Of sports when winter’s chilly reign 
Binds stream and lake in icy chain. 
Again the skater’s joy they feel: 

The mirrored lake* the glancing steel, 

The rushing file, the bonfire’s shine, 

The arc, the curve, the wavy line, 


58 Afloat With Old Glory 

The frenzied race, the icy spray, 

The victor’s shout that ends the play— 

In vivid, lifelike vision, all 

Glide through fond memory’s pictured hall: 

Last days and sports troop back again, 

To cheer the seaboy’s teeming brain! 


XIII 

As thought wakes thought the kindling eye 
Greets visions new as others die. 

The rushing sleigh, by moonlight glow, 

When wear the fields their robes of snow, 
Scales the high hill and sounds the vale, 

Like seabird in a piping gale; 

The steeds like forms of frostwork seem, 

Each quick drawn breath a puff of steam! 
Match me ye realms of fairyland 
With outlook in such splendor planned, 

When earth mocks heaven with starry sheen— 
A midnight, moonlight, winter scene! 

O list,—the far-off echoes ring 
And to and fro their music fling, 

Then nearer, louder, quicker, clear, 

The jingling din thrills heart and ear, 

And hill, and rock, and wood around 
Prolong in mellowing notes the sound, 

And the crisp snow in rhythm sweet, 

Tinkles beneath the horses’ feet. 

These phantom joys are passing fair 
Yet other belles make music there, 


Sunrise Lands 


59 


And cheeks with mirth and frolic glow, 

And eyes outshine the star-gemmed snow! 
Can eyes that gaze on tropic sky 
Sparkle in racier sports than they? 

Or nymphs of vineclad, sunny France 
Seem lovelier in their airy dance? 

Can pleasures all this earth around 
With more of manly zest be found? 

One land for me! farewell the rest! 

My own home joys, I love them best! 


XIV 

Eight bells have struck: our watch is done; 
In drowsy hammock, loosely swung, 

With measured cadence, soothing, slow, 

We cleave in dreams the feathery snow! 
Mysterious power of thinking men, 

To live our long past lives again! 

To color all those splendid days 
With joys unknown in these dull ways. 
Where is the thrill of manhood’s prime? 

O for keen youth with zest sublime! 

The prize that lured De Leon’s quest 
And fired the aged warrior’s breast; 

Slight were thy peril, toil and pain, 

Couldst thou thy early bloom regain! 
Welcome the land, by sages sung, 

Where man shall be forever young! 

Blind men are we! alas! how soon 
Fell on us sorrow’s dread simoon! 


6 o 


Afloat With Old Glory 

The softest gales the tropics nurse 
To us convey a blighting curse, 

For gloomy death, with dragon wings, 

His sable shadow on us flings, 

And, beckoned by fate’s bony hand, 

Blindly we near a deadly strand. 

Through languid mists our lookouts hail 
Manila’s outlines dim and pale; 

Through brooding fogs her domes arose 
Like phantoms at the evening’s close,— 
Such phantoms as might well foretell 
The sorrows that our crew befel. 

Infection steeped the evening air, 

Charged with its message of despair. 

Then gloom usurped mirth’s winsome place 
And glared from many a ghostlike face; 
Then every step in nightly tread, 

Seemed but the tiptoe of the dead. 

The young in years, of stalwart limb, 

With failing breath and vision dim, 
Withered at touch of spoiler’s hand,— 

The goodliest of our hardy hand: 

Such ever death’s ill-fated prey,— 

The brightest things first feel decay! 


XV 

Alas for those who watch and wait 
At constant Love’s unclosing gate: 
Tireless they tend her beacon fire,— 
While hope remains can it expire? 


Sunrise Lands 


61 


Yet all in vain: the bitter tear 
Shall never greet the loved one’s bier. 
Unnoted all by loving eye 
The rock-cave where his form shall lie: 
Above the spot no bloom shall flame, 

No lettered marble speak his name, 

Or mark the ocean wanderer’s grave 
Beneath the Indies’ hungry wave! 

Who shall deny that fear and dread 
Pillowed the sailor’s sleepless head, 

As haggard night, and sickening day, 

Bore each its prize of life away, 

And thought would her grim question ply, 
Each word, a stab,—who next shall die ? 

So eyes grew dim,—kind voices still: 
Mute, viewless ghosts their places fill. 

O life! O death ! O mystery! 

They died, and we live on to-day! 


XVI 

How helpless man in fatal hour 
Fraught with infection’s deadly power! 

So silent, stealthy, sure, unseen, 

Death wins the prize—all help is vain! 
Why comes there not some sign of wo,— 
Some voice to warn of mortal foe,— 

“ A deadly poison taints the gale! 

“ O spread with haste the kindly sail! 

“ Death’s lair is here,—no longer stay! 

“ All hands on deck! away! away! ” 


62 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Our sails were set,—the welcome wind 
Soon pushed us from tainted land 
Where, breathing poison, stalwart men 
Turned pale—grew still! Never again, 

At midwatch muster, voice or form 
Shall claim a thought: in calm and storm 
Their place is void: in alien tides 
They sleep in death: while time abides 
Naught shall record their life’s brief part 
Save memory in a shipmate’s heart. 

O mournful end> to die so soon! 

Their sunbright day grew dark at noon,— 
Before the scenes of manhood’s prime 
Revealed the scanty joys of time: 

When steadfast hope her promise gave 
Of every boon that wanderers crave, 

And faithful memory’s beckoning hand 
Still lured them to their native land 
Whose welcome they shall never know 
While ocean’s tides above them flow. 
Plowmen are we of stormy main,— 
With men we sow the furrowed plain! 
Stupendous thought!—this peopled sea— 
And the big harvest that shall be! 


XVII 

Chusan’s low hills, a wavy line, 

Scallop the waste of leaden brine; 
Barren and tame her slopes appear 
And scant their signs of homelike cheer. 


Sunrise Lands 


Then came Amoy’s hills of green 
And frowning cliffs with vales between, 
With clustering villas, groves in flower, 
Crowned by her grand pagoda tower 
Whose forms a priceless boon bestow; 
They bid fond memory’s canvas glow 
In times when dead things live again 
And trooping come like scenic train. 
Welcome the many-pictured page 
In hopeful youth, in sober age! 

O China! tomb of ages old, 

Release thy dead hand’s rigid hold 
On the dead past—unseal thine eyes. 

And feel the morning’s glad surprise 
That calls thee from thy foolish dream 
Of learning, worth and power supreme, 
Above barbarians—devil-born— 

The objects of thy haughty scorn! 

Thou canst not? wilt not? still wilt spurn 
The proffered hand-grasp and return 
The boon with insult? Then for thee 
Goes forth stern nature’s firm decree— 

Thy lofty pride must fall altho’ 

The cannon’s blast must lay it low. 

O mighty force! live millions sped, 
Impinging on the millions dead, 

And life and death-— the new, the old 
In conflict joined. The tale, retold, 

The world has heard. Excuse and blame 
Have, mingling, tinged with honor—sham 
The motives, deeds and names of men 
Whom God shall judge: they rest till then. 


64 Afloat With Old Glory 

Not ours the task when time shall fail, 

To weigh the dead in even scale; 

Be rather ours the part to call 
For gentle mercy on us all! 

Grim musings these: the singing wave 
Tells no dark tales: the deep sea grave 
Hides the wild wreck of war and storm,— 
No skeletons her face deform! 

Exultant from the land we fly 
To cleave the tide from shore to sky! 

XVIII 

Seas yet untried, the shoal, the rock, 

The sunken reef, the tempest’s shock, 

And endless leagues of tumbling foam, 

As wide as heaven’s encircling dome, 

The thunderbolt, the lightening’s glare, 
Our noble craft shall bravely dare. 
Through endless hours of glaring light,— 
Through watches long of lagging night<— 
Asleep, awake, we hurry on— 

The shoreless verge is never won! 

So feels the heart till opening skies 
Admit again land’s glad surprise. 

XIX 

Land O! Japan’s rough lines of blue 
Gladdened the seaboy’s hungry view! 

To Jeddo’s wide and welcome bay 


Sunrise Lands 


65 


Lead, helm, and sail, made cautious way, 
Whose waters, walled from tossing deep, 
And gusty winds, untroubled sleep. 

As silent seemed each cultured field, 

Each vale hung round with rocky shield,— 
The shaggy wood, the mountain dim, 

The line that marked the bay’s wide rim. 
No smoky columns upward rolled 
To stain her sunlit hues of gold. 

But undisturbed, in dreams serene. 

Lay the vast world of blue and green. 

No busy sounds from leafy glen 
Betrayed the haunts of stirring men; 

No banner wooed the mountain air,— 

No beacon flashed its signal fire; 

Recumbent earth and kindly sky 
Dreamed in the low winds’ lullaby. 


XX 

But look again! the curving beach, 

Far as the straining eye can reach, 

Is flecked with groups of hurrying men 
Increasing, streaming down as when 
Danger invades the honied hive 
And forth the maddened myriads drive. 
Each frith, and cove, and sheltered bay, 

Its tribute gives of shallops gay; 

They crowd the waters’ gleaming face,— 
A thousand prows its glass displace-— 
Their flags a cloud of bannered bloom,— 


66 


Afloat With Old Glory 

A myriad oarblades toss their foam,— 

Chiefs gleam in gold and silk attire, 

Bright armor flashes rays of fire: 

The rush of prows, the groaning oar, 

And voices rough, in medley roar; 

Thus came, upborne by ebbing tide, 

In martial pomp, the Armada’s pride. 

Who has not seen at burning noon 
The gorgeous wealth of flowery June 
Beyond the vision’s utmost goal 
In billowy undulations roll ? 

A dancing, laughing, floral sea,— 

Its wave caps tossing wild with glee! 
Burdening the wind with odors rare— 
Elysian fields! are they as fair ? 

With famed Arcadia’s sylvan pride 
The bannered fleet in splendor vied. 

What nights were ours in Yeddo bay! 

What splendors charmed our transient stay, 
When bannered glory changed at night 
To one broad belt of gleaming light! 
Whichever way our eyes were turned 
Ten thousand brilliant lanterns burned, 

And wavelets multiplied the glow 
In myriad sparkles from below, 

In varied motion when the bay 
Tossed with the gusty night-wind’s play. 

Or slept serene, as round us came 
The gorgeous zone’s prismatic flame! 

Ascend aloft: with wonder see 
A splendid city’s jubilee! 

The gallant mast, a slender spire, 


Sunrise Lands 


6 7 


XXI 

Encircled by a ring of fire! 

The Sunrise Kingdom’s navy now 
Surrounds our ship, lashed stern to prow, 
A cordon strong; alas! how frail 
To test our broadsides iron hail! 

Quaint and uncouth their rig and build, 
With armed and mail-clad warriors filled; 
Staunch in the sea storm’s wildest beat, 

In battle strong, with kindred fleet; 

Safe as a guard of fisher’s home 
When hostile junks in challenge come, 

Or pirate proas deftly wait 
By narrow pass, or crooked strait. 

Snug in old ocean’s clinging zone 
The Island Empire lies, alone, 

Shielded from stranger’s artful plea— 

The Hermit Nation of the sea! 

No foreign broils invade their isle, 

They heed not threat or specious smile; 
Within their affluent home secure 
They bid each stranger leave their door. 

Our proffered hand they calmly spurned, 
To every plea a deaf ear turned. 

Their wish was given by sworded chief 
At once decisive, curt and brief. 

“ We long have known your nation’s name* 
“ In commerce great, renowned in fame: 

“ Long be they so: refit your store, 

“ Unfurl your sail: return no more! ” 


68 


Afloat With Old Glory 


XXII 

Then wood in lavish piles they bring, 

With crystal water from the spring; 

Our ship they filled! From cultured fields 
Came every boon their climate yields. 

Free was the gift,—no venal trade 
Could pass their jealous barricade. 

From alien gifts and traffic gain, 

They turn as from a deadly bane, 
Resolved to keep, while yet they may, 
The robber nations still at bay. 

We spread our sails on stay and yard 
To seaward sail,—the wakeful guard, 

In boats by thousands, pennoned gay, 
With hawsers towed us down the bay, 
Eager to hasten from their shore 
Men feared, suspected, evermore! 

If scant the welcome they expressed, 

They surely sped the parting guest! 

A fair wind from the landward side 
In wavelets stirred the ebbing tide, 

Filled our broad sails and grandly now 
Crowds oceanward our rushing prow. 

Each tossing boat, when rose the gale, 
Shipped oars and spread a snowy sail; 

As seagulls slide along the blue, 

Japan’s flotilla homeward flew. 

XXIII 

The island peaks sink slowly down 
In waves that all its splendor drown, 


Sunrise Lands 


69 


As Fujisan’s white, sunlit cone 
Glows, pales and dies. We are alone' 
Ahead, around, one trackless main 
Outspreads, a never ending plain, 

All landmarks gone.—yet on we fly 
Like homing pigeon through the sky. 

What though the wind, the sky, the wave, 
Dealt kindly with the seaworn brave, 
Manila’s blight still darkly hung 
On mind and heart, on old and young. 

In folded bud the hidden worm 
Eats on and blasts a lovely form. 

So did disease in secret prey 
On manliest forms that, day by day, 

Grew pale, and thin, and slow of breath,— 
The heralds sure of coming death. 

Within the sick-bay’s narrow space, 

Where swinging hammocks interlace, 

And crowded cots their burdens bear 
Of lingering pain and dull despair, 

The pallid forms, the mortal strife, 

Befit the sailor’s unblest life. 

From whitewashed deckbeam, swinging low, 
The dim lamp vibrates to and fro; 

The humid air in halo plays 
Around the dull and struggling rays, 

And spectral shadows rise and fall 
Like ghostly shapes along the wall,— 

Timing their motions, quaint and droll, 

To the huge warship’s measured roll. 

At every plunge of surging bow 
Beneath the billow’s crest of snow, 


7° 


Afloat With Old Glory 

The battened ports their trust betray 
And gush with streams of chilling spray. 

The gathering waters, gurgling near 
On sloshy decks, annoy the ear; 

While sobbing scuppers, timber’s groan 
And creaking foremast, seaman’s moan, 

And wan discomfort, lingering pain, 

Fret tortured nerve and throbbing brain— 

With anguish fill the reeking den,— 

A dismal berth for dying men. 

Submerged within this doleful cell 
Men worn with wasting sickness dwell, 
Through painful nights, through weary days,—. 
Forbid the sunshine’s genial rays, 

Home comforts all and woman’s care 
In nature’s crisis unknown there! 

In that dim cavern’s narrow bounds, 

And odors vile, and sickening sounds, 

Since cleft our keel the Narrow’s tide 
Three-score brave mariners have died! 

O thou adventurous boy! beware! 

Home’s peace and plenty, love and care 
Leave not for miseries that attend 
The homeless sailor’s hapless end. 

Chose calling, place, and comrades, all, 

Mindful of perils that befal 

This mortal life. Shun folly’s snare:— 

Shall sudden death surprise you there? 

Try by this test your choice supreme, 

And let life’s end inspire life’s dream! 


THE PACIFIC 

I 


For twenty days no fairer gale 
Filled ever galley’s silken sail, 

Then clouds, ill omened, grew and spread 
On either bow, abeam, ahead; 

With wings of wind the storm came on, 

And denser veiled the hidden sun; 

The sea forgot its limpid blue, 

And changed its depths to inky hue, 

While capping waves and rising foam 
Herald the mighty ocean storm! 

The strong north wind a burden bore 
Of fog from far Aleutian shore 
That wrapped us in its gloomy cloud,— 
Dripped on our deck from spar and shroud,— 
Clenched every form in giant hold, 

And numbed our limbs with damp and cold. 
Through weary days and nights of pain 
Trailed our white wake the shoreless plain:— 
How vast this reach of wasteful sea! 

How far away our homes must be! 

How baffled is the weary eye 
Watching in vain the land to spy! 

Sublime thy faith, O sailor brave, 

Who tempted first the shoreless wave! 


71 


72 


Afloat With Old Glory 


II 

At last the far horizon’s line 
Was fretted by a welcome sign— 

Hawaii’s peaky isles that grew 
In noble outline on the blue. 

O happy isles! whose breezes bring 
The odors of an endless spring, 

With royal bounty ever nigh, 

For famished seaman’s full supply; 

Faith, shouting, greets Elysium’s Sign 
In the vast w^orld of rolling brine! 

O seagirt world where nature’s hand 
Her wonderous w'ork in grandeur planned! 
Inspiring happy guests to sing 
Of isle adorned with coral ring, 

Of mountain’s dome and rocky spire 
Illumined by volcanic fire, 

Where streams of molten lava flow, 

Where sooty Vulcan’s forges glow, 

And low within the hollow ground 
Is heard his anvil’s booming sound! 
Unfailing, through the full orbed year, 
The pendant fruit and flowers appear; 
Luxuriant vines and waving corn 
The sloping hills and vales adorn; 

The orange gleams like ball of gold, 

The luscious melon, huge in mold, 

Banana clusters curving down 
With rank on rank of fragrant brown, 

And many a dainty thing to cloy 


The Pacific 


73 


The craving taste of sailor boy. 

O blessed islands! memory clings 
To by-gone scenes and grateful sings 
Of happy days when, faint, forlorn 
With wasting sickness, hunger born, 
At last our anchor, joy to tell! 

On Honolulu’s corals fell! 

Vanished our hunger! vanished fear! 
We felt the power of Oahu cheer! 


Ill 

Hail happy islands! not the same 
As when at first the white face came, 

And saw thy wo. To-day we view 
An island world created new! 

Behold a sign, my sceptic friend,— 

A marvel! O ye wise! attend:— 

A teacher with the book of God 
Passed to and fro: where’er he trod 
Sprang trees of life! they grew, they spread 
And filled the land with fruit and shade,— 
Abundant, heaven’s all healing tree! 

A feast for all! God’s gift is free! 

Men eat and live and bless the day 
That saw their darkness flee away,— 

Saw faith divine her temples rear, 

Saw learning’s radiant form appear, 

Saw in the midst of oceans, wild 
Thy wondrous birth, O happy child! 


74 


Afloat With Old Glory 


IV 

In fearless haste we sought the strand— 
With welcome words, with open hand, 
And hearty cheer and full supplies 
They blessed our eager, hungry eyes. 

No warriors yelled their fierce alarms. 
Appeared no bands with jealous arms, 

No naked limbs with warpaint foul, 

No visage marred by murder’s scowl, 

The swarming tribes with hand and voice 
Beckoned and cried,—Welcome! Rejoice! 
All round our world the gospel plan 
Reveals the brotherhood of man;— 

All peoples, touched by love divine, 

In unity of heart combine! 


V 

Since spear and warclub held their sway 
Their power supreme, brief is the day, 
Then night unveiled her terrors grim. 
When waned the moon in vapor dim, 

As round the feastfire’s lurid flame 
In crowds the hideous dancers came, 

In trappings clad which best array 
The guests of savage revelry! 

The dance begins:—stained faces bear 
Such looks as fiends in conflict wear,— 


The Pacific 


75 


The heritage of ages gone 
Of blood and crime, from sire to son. 
Their limbs, with paint and shells arrayed, 
Gleam hideous in the light and shade 
That play around the flaring pyre, 
Gilding each front with hues of fire. 
Above them rolls the stygian smoke; 
Well were it could that gloomy cloak 
Hide from the sight of heavenly eye 
Rites which we mortals quail to spy! 


VI 

All now is changed; from mountain side 
Where warriors yelled, and fought, and died, 
With happy songs glad troops repair 
To zion’s fane—the house of prayer. 

A power divine alone could win 
From death to life, these island men! 

All hail the heroes, true and brave, 

Who ventured all, the lost to save! 

The gentle wives who dared to stand, 

Faithful till death, with voice and hand, 
Through the dark night till morning’s prime 
Rewarded well their faith sublime! 

Listen, O earth! What.gold or gem 
Of thine shall form the diadem 
Their brows shall wear? God’s hand alone 
Robes, crowns, and seats them near the throne! 


76 Afloat With Old Glory 


VII 

The island’s fruits, the genial air, 

New life restored and banished care; 

In cheeks where fever’s hectic burned 
The ruddy rose’s bloom returned, 

And sport, and song, with wonted power, 
Gladdened again the sunset hour; 

Mirth walked again her sprightly round 
Exultant from the quick rebound. 

O man,—what vigor in thee lies— 
Crushed oft so low, so soon to rise! 

Free to the winds our sails were flung, 

The sea breeze through our cordage sung, 
As eastward trailed our foaming seam 
Across Pacific’s glow and gleam! 

A peerless sea! so darkly blue, 

And wreathed with foam its glowing hue, 
The cloud-flecked sheen of deepest skies 
Are rivalled in its gorgeous dyes. 

There sleeping thunders calmly dream 
Or, wakened by the lightening’s stream, 

Fill boundless space with crash and boom 
As if had come the day of doom. 

Heaven’s warfare past, at daylight’s close 
The weary billows seek repose; 

From crested waves a blending sound 
Rolls all the realm of waters round,— 
Millions of voices, low and strong 
That sing their everlasting song. 


The Pacific 


77 


Beneath our gently plunging bow 
Rise and roll forward waves of snow,— 
And see! the crests of foamy brine 
Are all aflame! the bubbles shine 
With flash and gleam; the mystic light 
Makes witchwork for the drowsy sight! 
Ho ! knighthead look out! look below! 
Sleep if thou canst when ocean’s glow 
Bids thee awake, behold, admire 
The web of waters shot with fire! 


VIII 

Pacific sea!—where calms prevail, 
When shipmen vainly spread their sail; 
When hushed is every wavelet’s lay, 
And all its music dies away. 

Yet sleeping air, and drowsy sea, 

Yield many an hour of frisky glee 
To mollusk, fish, and seabird brave 
That loves its home, the lonely wave. 
Then sportive whales in fearless play 
Spout skyward jets of showery spray, 
Rear their huge flukes, go darkly down 
In plash, and whirl, and boiling foam! 
The tumbling porpoise, black as night, 
Shines with the sun’s reflected light,— 
A merry school, in groups they go— 
Like leapfrog boys where daisies grow. 
The shark in treacherous ambush lies, 
Fair as the seaweed’s greenest dyes; 


7 8 Afloat With Old Glory 

The spotty dolphin joins the play, 

And gleams like northern, midnight ray 
The sea gull folds her wing to rest, 

A bubble on the water’s breast; 

The stormy petrel feels the spell, 

Soft cradled on the glassy swell; 

The nautilus, a sailor brave, 

In pearly shallop gems the wave; 

Of shining gauze his tiny sail,— 

The zephyr light his welcome gale,— 
Frail as a fleck of ocean foam, 

Exulting in his floating home. 

Still lies the sea, still is the blast, 

Idly the canvas flaps the mast; 

The scuppers sob with gurgling sound, 
Hot sunbeams steeping all around, 
While listless loungers chide the breeze 
That fails to stir the lazy seas, 

And yawn the lagging hours away 
Rebelling at the long delay. 

O huge old hulk! thy helpless roll 
Proclaims thee dead: no living soul 
Gives vital motion to thy form 
As when fair breeze or driving storm 
Pours on thy sails the breath of life 
And stirs thee to thy gallant strife. 

O for some art to fill thy frame 
With power evolved from hottest flame 
And make thee live and force thy way 
O’er glassy ocean plains nor stay 
Thy stedfast course when wind and tide 
And waves confront thee—all allied! 


The Pacific 


79 


That time shall come! the happy hour 
Speeds to exalt Old Glory’s power! 

And thou too hail! Pacific Sea! 

The Age of Steam thy crown shall be! 

IX 

Breeze O! light scuds climb up the sky 
The dog-vane stirs ! relief is nigh ! 

The water’s verge, a trembling line, 

No longer yields its brassy shine,— 

The sea’s hot glare is changing too 
And all with whitening foam aglow. 

Afar and near the glittering plain 
Sings welcome to the wind again. 

The ship revives,—salutes the gale, 

Curves high and low each puffing sail 
Then fills away her yards atrim,— 

Proud sea-bird on the water’s brim! 

New life returned the seamen feel 
With the first heave of rising keel; 

They sniff with zest the freshening air,— 
Runs round the deck a straggling cheer,— 
Hilarious shouts and cries as when 
Schoolboys emerge from irksome den. 
Fresh blew the wind: we crowded sail, 
Astern we left a snowy trail; 

Ahead a routed army flew 
Wave chasing wave: the tumult grew 
As our huge bows now rose, now fell 
With roaring plunge: the winds impel 
Our looming hulk on ranks of waves 
That bore us on like crouching slaves. 


8o 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Grave tars with solemn air avow 
“ The girls are at the tow-rope now! ” 

With masking laugh we all conceal 
What tell-tale eye-flash might reveal. 

X 

Still on, and on, by day, by night, 

In moonlight pale, by glaring light, 

By gentle breeze, by rushing storm, 

By drifting current, onward borne; 

Through dashing rain, through drenching 
spray, 

Through fogs and mists for many a day, 

Till leagues on leagues of wasteful sea 
Lie leagues on leagues in space away, 

And regions limitless, sublime, 

More like eternity than time, 

Incessantly the weary brain 
Oppress with a mysterious pain. 

O lonesome waste of seas and skies! 

A million waves each moment rise, 

A million die: a million more 
Prolong the everlasting roar, 

While we through shoreless space are hurled, 
Caged prisoners in a circling world! 

Changeless and blank the area lies, 

Encircled by the bending skies! 

Yet on, and on; no rest, no sleep, 

To bark that dares the pulsing deep; 

No moment when the floods are still, 

No respite for the weary keel; 


The Pacific 


81 


On, till Antarctic skies unfold 
The southern cross in starry gold, 

And many a constellation’s blaze 
Forever hid from northern gaze! 

XI 

What land is this that greets the eye,— 

A speck between the sea and sky, 

Astray and lost, and yet well known, 
Though in the waste of waves alone ? 

What manly heart beats not to hear 
That name to boyhood’s memory dear ? 

Land of poor Selkirk’s long exile— 

Juan Fernandez! witching isle! 

Romantic gem! each wood and dell 
Mourn the departed Crusoe still! 

Low sank the isle—in joyful view 
Rose Andes’ peaks in palest blue; 

Nearer approached the welcome land, 

We scanned the hills, the vales, the strand,— 
The city grew, the mole, the fleet, 

The thronging boats, the busy street,— 

Our anchor dropped. At rest we lay 
In Valparaiso’s crescent bay. 

XII 

The barren hills curve sharply down 
In outline rough of sombre brown, 

With many a shelf and terrace wild 
With dwellings quaint and villas piled. 


82 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Adown the hills the deep ravine, 

With trickling rill and spots of green, 

Small solace give to searching eye 
Where earthquake’s spoils disordered lie. 
Dropped loosely on the shattered hills, 

Each niche some toppling building fills; 

Up frowning steeps the roadways rise,— 

The zigzag lines a strange surprise; 

They boldly fret the dizzy edge 
Of precipice whose beetling ledge 
Threatens the deep and narrow glen, 
Huddled with pigmy homes of men. 

Anon some quiet garden’s green, 

With shade, and bloom, and fountain’s sheen, 
Allures the feet from dusty way 
Along the luscious walks to stray. 

When evening lights her welcome star 
Lithe fingers trill the soft guitar; 

Enlivened by the sprightly sound 
Fandango twirls her mazy round, 

While speaking eye and mirthful hour 
Confess gay music’s witching power. 

XIII 

Amid these hills, these rugged vales, 

The Chilian maid unthinking dwells; 

Her mind to inspiration’s page 
A dreary blank; in youth and age, 

Ave Marias her only boast— 

And Pater Nosters,—beaded, crossed; 


The Pacific 


83 


Faithful to keep each holiday, 

And every rule of priestly sway, 

As sunset hues in night retire, 

As sunrise tips the waves with fire, 

O what a race to feel the might 
Of sacred learning’s kindling light! 
And O what hearts to know the sway 
Of pure religion’s ecstasy! 

O God! when will the man of sin 
No more enslave the souls of men! 


XIV 

Along the harbor’s sloping beach 
Lie spacious street and sandy reach, 

With scattered trees, level and wide 
For airy drive or ambling ride; 

While plazas, churches, markets, mole, 
Reward the stranger’s curious stroll. 

A high plateau above the town 
On city spires and domes looks down, 

On busy street, on stirring quay, 

On shipyard strewn with beam and knee, 
On merchant ships that cluster nigh, 

On warships grim that anchored lie, 

And on the wide bay’s liquid floor 
Once vibrant with fierce battle’s roar! 

No equal force, no chivalry, 

Met worthy foe in even fray; 

Two ships, two guns, two men for one! 
The decks were cleared,—the fight was on! 


84 Afloat With Old Glory 

Flamed the red broadsides! shock and roar 
Of shot and bursting shell that tore 
Stout ribs of oak and mast and spar, 

And form of many a gallant tar! 

Five times the half hour’s sand had run 
When ceased to answer gun for gun! 

Brave men, one hundred fifty-four, 

Maimed, drowned and killed, fight nevermore. 
The noble ship was wrapped in flame, 

The end had come: war’s fatal game 
Had passed all hope of happy turn, 

And Porter left the wreck—to burn. 

The smoke blew off: the din was still,— 
Thousands looked down from beetling hill,— 
In ruin, flood and firey spray 
A shattered hulk the Essex lay. 

As oft the sailor scans the bight 
That smoked and boomed in that sea fight 
With loyal pride he tells the tale 
To boys, whose plaudits never fail, 

Exulting in the hero’s boast,— 

“ Our ship alone,—no honor’s lost! ” 


XV 

Our pent-up crew, from sea watch free, 
Vexed the dull town with noisy glee; 
For Valparaiso’s rugged arms 
Gave welcome from the sea’s alarms. 
Yet tenfold dangers lurking there,— 
Bold brazen vice and subtle snare, 


The Pacific 


85 


Combine to leave the reckless tar 
A victim marked with wound and scar. 

At every turn the lure is spread,— 

In folly’s path his feet are led; 

The best resolves of virtue fly, 

And days and nights go madly by 
In dance and song and frantic glee, 

And bacchanalian revelry. 

Thy cursed power who can reveal, 

O maddening cup, to blast man’s weal? 

The damning arts, O who can tell, 

Of her whose steps take hold on hell ? 

God save thee, sailor, in the hour 
Of sin’s supreme, seductive power! 

God bless thee if thy steadfast will 
Is loyal to thy conscience still! 

And such men live, and lures defy,— 
Unchanged themselves, though changed their 
sky. 


XVI 

Again resounds the Boatswain’s call 
In dolorous tones,—“ Up anchor all 1 ” 
From sheltering port again we flee— 
Restless sea-rovers all are we! 

Glad to set sail,—more glad at last, 
When, many a weary night-watch passed, 
On yard and boom our sails we stow 
In thy broad basin, Callao! 

Here greet us many an ancient scar 
Of nature’s elemental war; 


86 


Afloat With Old Glory 


For quaking earth, and tidal wave, 

Hurl the proud ship, no skill can save, 

And city spire, and fortress wall, 

In mingled crush and ruin all. 

Here dead to every sunny smile 
Lies San Lorenzo’s barren isle, 

A gloomy mass whose rusty mound, 

And sandy tracts of herbless ground, 
With sudden rush was upward driven,— 
From ocean’s bed by earthquake riven! 
Where now the harbor’s ripples rise, 

A city drowned and ruined lies,— 

Where traders haggled, bought and sold, 
The clinging seaweed’s sprays unfold, 
And stirring men have yielded place 
To crawling forms and finny race. 

Yet where the land and waters meet 
Was paved again the noisy street; 
Despite the elemental foes, 

The city’s piles again uprose; 

Hushed are the earth’s disturbing cries, 
And peaceful nature charms the eyes. 
Deceitful trust! The day of doom 
Makes haste to fill a waiting tomb! 

XVII 

A storied land lures ear and eye 
With time’s old relics ever nigh; 

For every terrace, slope and vale 
Recalls to life a martial tale. 

Yon plain in nature’s mantle gay 


The Pacific 


87 


Has borne the shock of deadly fray; 
There squadrons met in mortal strife, 
And death made sport of human life, 
Those verdant shrubs that deck the plain 
From human dust their color gain; 

Their rootlets clasp the porous bone 
Of wrenched and broken skeleton. 

O bitter thought that living men, 

With hearts like ours to love, as when 
Dear kindred said a last good-bye, 

Should meet on battle field to die! 

No hand to staunch the gushing wound, 
No syllable of pardon’s sound, 

No grave: alas, by vultures torn! 

Unwept, unnoticed and unknown! 

Within the mountain’s deeper gloom 
Fierce robber bands maintain their home; 
Securely fenced in rocky hold, 

They raid the highways, mad for gold. 
The stranger’s pace is quickened here 
From leisure tread to flying fear, 

Well may he haste! the masking shade 
Serves mountaineers for ambuscade. 
Sharp is the steel and swift the hand 
To reinforce their stern demand. 

XVIII 

Note the blue hills whose summits rise 
To mingle with the hazy skies, 

And lower view that terrace fair 
As ever felt the mountain air! 


88 


Afloat With Old Glory 

The quiet hum of social cheer 
Floats downward from the broad parterre 
Of Lima’s squares and plazas fair 
The mountain home! A city rare! 

The domes and towers of gleaming white, 
With spire and cross of living light, 

To God by consecration given 
Speak of the Christian’s holy heaven,— 
Alas! not found where papal rule 
With superstition snares the soul. 

The old defences, moat and wall 
Clasp convent, church and hospital,— 
Cathedral vast, and prison grim, 

And many a cell with darkness dim,— 
The haunt of monk, or nun, saint, 

With cowl attired, or vesture quaint, 

And store of relics, silver, gold, 

And gems and vestures manifold. 

XIX 

Wide streets the gladdened eye allure, 

Their centre coursed by brooklet pure 
Drawn from the Rimack’s ample tide 
In bouldered groove to fret and glide, 
Diffusing sense of coolness round, 

And water’s song with city’s sound. 

The sober piles devoid of cheer, 

Grim prison houses all appear,— 

A blank expanse of dingy wall, 

With loopholes pierced, and window small, 
And gateway low, like sallyport 


The Pacific 


89 


Of castle old, or sullen fort. 

But pass within ! how changed the scene! 
What miracles of bloom and green? 

And spouting water, birds that sing 
Around the ever raining spring! 

The smooth paved court, the shadows deep, 
The galleries cool that round it sweep 
The latticed windows, airy doors, 

The columns crowned with vines and flowers; 
The drooping hammock’s dreamy sway— 

Like oriole on pendant spray; 

The merry shout of boys and girls,— 

Glimpses of ebon eyes and curls, 

Fill every sense with pleased surprise 
And make us doubt our gazing eyes. 

Through open doors we wander on, 

Past lounging cit, and smoking don, 

Enter a cool and quiet hall 
With frescoed ceiling, pictured wall, 

Where marches, charges, sieges wild, 

And battle smoke, in mountains piled, 

Repeat the tale of wo and sin— 

The endless tale of martial din. 

That blissful day, O where, and when 1 
That calms the ire of warlike men! 

Bids all enjoy, secure from ill, 

Heaven’s precious boon, peace and good-will! 

XX 

Along the vale where willows lean, 

In San Lazaro’s vistas green,— 


9 ° 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Fretting the city’s outer verge, 

The Rimack’s floods in tumult urge 
Through rocky bed their boiling way, 
Wetting their bushy banks with spray. 
Of massive stone, six arches wide 
Span the vexed river’s foaming tide 
Whose parapets our tars explore,— 

For, says the sailor’s dog-watch lore, 
The highest arch its fame has won 
From deed of daring, bravely done, 

By one whose nerve could fate disarm,— 
Courage alone his potent charm. 


XXI 

A robber bold, the legend runs, 

One of capricious fortune’s sons,— 
Had long maintained a madcap life, 
Scathless in many a mortal strife, 
Eluding every trap and snare, 

And art, to catch him unaware, 

Until, to desperation driven, 

His victims to the guard had given 
A proffer grand for capture bold,— 
His head’s whole weight in solid gold! 
All were astir! the magic prize 
Unsealed the vigilante’s eyes: 

Never before had street and wall 
Of Lima fair more strict patrol. 

But what avail guard, gate, or bar, 


The Pacific 


9 1 


To him whose element is war? 

Whose life from peril draws its charm— 
Whose hardihood could death disarm! 


XXII 

’Twas night: in Lima’s peopled square 
Bazars were open, lights aglare; 

An ambling horseman pricked along 
The roadway through the careless throng, 

To where a window, golden framed, 

With brilliant burners flashed and flamed, 
Revealing gems and gold whose gleam 
Might shame an Eastern wizard’s dream, 

So rich the show of diamonds rare, 

And stones that flashed like molten star! 

The stranger paused,—with calmest mien,— 
Scanned at a glance the splendid scene; 

On face and form the clear light shone 
As touched his feet the flagging ^tone. 

Like one at home, with ease and grace, 

He passed the doorway’s ample space, 

The inmates with salute addressed,— 

With hand deliberate,—self-possessed,— 

He swept within his poncho’s fold 
Rubies, and gems, and pearls, and gold, 
Turned on his heel and lightly sprang 
On waiting steed. A shot! a clang 
Of voices rent the evening air! 

Don Martin! O the wild despair 
That paralyzed the affrighted crew, 


9 2 


Afloat With Old Glory 

As through the square his courser flew! 
With terror fired, afar and nigh, 

Fierce shouts for vigilantes cry! 

Nor cry in vain : 4 a cavalcade 
With clanging hoof and ringing blade 
Dash through the plaza’s empty space 
Spurring their steeds to frantic race! 


XXIII 

The gates were closed: one way alone, 
Across the Rimack’s bridge of stone, 

To the mad chief an exit gave! 

His stake is—life, or felon’s grave! 

He gained the bridge: upon his rear 
The horsemen closed with maddening cheer 
He raised his cap with taunting sign 
Then forward glanced: he saw a line 
Full four ranks deep, and firmly set, 

The moon reveals each bayonet 
By guardsmen held who closely kneel 
And bear the bristling hedge of steel! 
Beyond, a squad their deadly aim 
Converges on the royal game 
Waiting the fatal order—fire! 

O robber chief! what visions dire 
Repressed thy hard, convulsive breath 
As met thine eyes that threat of death ? 
Where now thy late temerity 
In this thy soul’s extremity? 

With nervous hand his rein he drew,— 


The Pacific 


93 


His steed back on his haunches threw,— 
Wheeled half around: an instant more 
Had steel and bullet pierced him there ? 

He plunged the spur! a snort! a spring! 
Swift as the frightened bird takes wing 
The bridge’s parapet he cleared, 

And in the darkness disappeared! 

All held their breath,—a heavy splash,— 
The spray that caught the moonbeam’s flash, 
Alone assured the baffled crowd 
That Martin’s form was flesh and blood. 

Yet flesh he was,—a hero still, 

Or robber bold,—or what you will, 

Who flourished on for many a year, 

His name a synonym of fear 
To vigilante, merchant, don, 

And every sober citizen, 

Who doubted not that Satan’s power 
Had saved his child in peril’s hour. 


XXIV 

The vast cathedral’s open gate 
Allures our not unwilling feet 
O’er threshold broad of massive stone, 

By fretting footsteps deeply worn. 

In niches dark, by taper’s glow, 

Weird sculptures scan the scene below,— 
Martyrs and saints in pomp arrayed, 

Who unto death their Lord obeyed; 

The virgin mild, in tinsel dress, 


94 


Afloat With Old Glory 

Lulls her blest babe with fond caress; 

The crucifixion scene abounds, 

With crown of thorns and bleeding wounds; 
And here the solemn altar stands 
Inviting sinners’ suppliant hands 
To pause, nor from the place to turn 
Where mercy’s lamps unceasing burn. 

Here swells the organ’s pealing sound; 

With solemn mass its strains abound; 
Through nave and arch its echoes roll 
Thrilling with awe the trembling soul. 
Demure the black robed priest appears, 
Oppressed with weight of gouty years; 

The stranger’s mien he scans with care, 
Pleased with his reverential air— 

Before the Saviour’s shrine to see 
The drooping head, the bending knee. 

“ O for that sign for Him who died 
A blessing on thy youthful head.” 

And more it seemed his heart would say 
As passed we from the place away. 


XXV 

How grand this plaza’s gorgeous sight! 
A living fount of dancing light! 

Where foam, and jet, and pearly spray, 
With wind and sunbeam coyly play, 
Flooding the fountain’s brazen rim, 

And singing its melodious hymn. 

O living water! Beauty rare! 


The Pacific 


95 


What earth-born things with thee compare ? 
Thy lavish flow of light and song 
Streams the uncounted hours along! 

In sober midnight’s drowsy time, 

In stiller noontide’s sultry prime, 

In moonlight, sunlight, starlight wan, 

Thy tuneful torrent murmurs on. 

Each moment every gazing eye 
New forms of brilliancy can spy, 

In shifting color, shade and gleam— 

Of Lima’s gem—the plaza dream! 

In memory’s hall, where’er I stray, 

I bear thy shapes, thy sounds away; 

In musing hour, at fancy’s will, 

I hear thy waters singing still! 


XXVI 

Our time has passed: each golden hour 
Has taxed of eye and brain the power: 
From the rich boon of brief sojourn 
Seaward our lingering steps we turn 
Rich with the spoils of gathered store 
Culled from a land we see no more. 

In dusty cloud at furious pace 
We pass the gateway’s ample space 
Through which, in gala day of old, 

The pride and pomp of war has rolled,— 
The cavalcade, the festive train, 

As victors held their transient reign. 
Gone are their splendors all to-day; 


96 Afloat With Old Glory 

Time has consigned them to decay 
And written on each crumbling wall 
Assurance of their speedy fall. 

The old is past! the new we sing-— 
All hail—the glory it shall bring! 
Our dusty tars again bestow 
A curious glance on Callao; 

The quiet harbor’s surfy rim, 

The castle huge with cannon grim, 
The long low mole, the sombre fort, 
With glacis, bastion, scarp and moat, 
And belted guard on zigzag wall,— 
Peru’s proud bunting crowning all; 
A picture fair on memory’s page, 
The wanderer’s priceless heritage. 


THE BLOCKADE 

I 

Again Old Neptune's breath we feel; 
Again we tread the rolling keel; 

Again the blue sky’s lofty dome 
A bubble swells above the foam. 
Homeward no longer heads our prow; 
Grim war exacts our service now. 

For the far coastline’s long blockade, 

With fleet or fort for cannonade, 

For skirmish sharp, or irksome guard, 

On flood or field we go prepared; 

Along the vast Pacific’s goal 
Our guns maintain war’s dull patrol. 

Each homesick boy, with saddened eye, 
Saw the wild waters sternward fly,— 
Vast seas between us and the land 
Where hope’s bright visions all expand, 
And all that stretch of shoreless plain 
Our plodding keel must cleave again! 

But older salts, with shrug and roll, 

And ready words, our hearts console: 

“ More days, more dollars! ” life and time, 
O what are they to manhood’s prime! 

The golden years are idly weighed 
With folly’s joys that flash and fade I 

97 


98 Afloat With Old Glory 


II 

As cleaves our keel the whitened brine 
To cut again the equator’s line, 

Above, below, our decks abound 
With war’s stern drill and battle’s sound. 
The stormy drums to quarters beat, 
Mingled with notes of hurrying feet 
And boys and veterans know right well 
The sound of battle’s signal call. 

The stirring drumbeat wakes no fear,— 
No timid heart is beating here; 

The palpitating notes inspire 
A thirst for conflict, blood, and fire! 

A frenzied recklessness of life,— 

A hunger for the maddening strife 
Where desperation’s deeds are done,— 
Yard chafing yard, gun answering gun! 
As when the well-trained athlete knows 
The strength and skill that in him grows, 
A grappling foe he burns to grasp, 

And try his mettle in the clasp. 


Ill 

The tackles manned, impetuous now 
Spring to the task the stalwart crew! 
As light the ponderous cannons roll 
As creatures moved by self-control; 
The oaken ribs the impact feel,— 


The Blockade 


99 


Quivers the ship from truck to keel, 

Careening with the mighty lunge 
Of the vast broadside’s leeward plunge. 

Loud beat the drums ! “ Boarders away! ” 

And hotter grows the wild affray. 

As hornets rush to guard their nest 
When by assailants rudely pressed, 

From hatchways rush the desperate band, 

Who wage the conflict hand to hand, 

For mortal combat well prepared,— 

The pistoled belt, the cutlass bared, 

Resolved to win, no thought to fly, 

Proud of the task to do or die. 

“ On larboard bow, boarders repel! ” 

“ Forward marines! ” with sudden yell,— 

With bayonet and flashing gun, 

To daiiger’s point the heroes run; 

Along the bulwark form a wall 
On which the fated foe must fall: 

Pikemen their bristling steel combine 
To reinforce the serried line. 

O what a bed for foes to feel! 

To leap on ranks of piercing steel! 

To headlong leap on certain death 

And strokeless, powerless, yield their breath! 

IV 

The ship’s bell rings! “ Fire! Fire! ” it cries! 
From each gun’s crew a man replies; 

With engine, hose and buckets manned, 




ioo Afloat With Old Glory 

At danger’s point they take their stand. 

The force pumps quake, the waters fly 
On sail and shroud in torrents high, 
Bedashing all, with drenching stream, 

That might allure the fire’s red gleam. 

The drumbeat sounds the loud recall,— 

Back to their quarters hurry all: 

The fancied fight is fought and won! 

“ Clear up the decks! ” “ Secure your guns! ” 

The order given—a strife is sure 

Who first shall answer,—“ All secure! ” 


V 

The decks are cleared, with scant good-will 
We take the task of irksome drill 
With carbine armed, and bayonet, 

Whereat old seadogs growl and fret; 

For never yet did sailor true 
Humiliate his navy blue 
By learning aught of soldier’s art 
With peace of mind and willing heart. 

Each belt with heavy pistols hung 
And burnished cutlass, loosely swung, 
Give the rough tars the wild array 
Of buccaneers of olden day. 

The manual’s drill the sergeant cries; 
With flash confused the steel replies, 

As, shifting in the pliant hand, 

Its glint responds the curt command. 

A target hung at foreyard arm, 


The Blockade 


i 


And swinging slow, meets little harm; 
The spot a foe might most desire 
Is where is aimed the hottest fire! 


VI 

As fly our early days along, 

We know not how till all are gone, 

So watch and watch successive flew, 

As plowed our ship her field of blue, 

Till fifty times the sun’s decline 
Had burned the western wave’s skyline. 
One morning watch the lookout gazed 
Alert where sunrise glories blazed, 

When, lo! along the edge of day 
Loomed the low hills of Monterey, 

Bright with the springtime’s greenest stain, 
Of sea-dews born and April rain. 

No headlands rough, no outline rude, 
Impairs the dreamy solitude, 

But gentle slope, and wavy line, 

With wood, and vale, and sky combine, 

And all the outlook beautify 
To charm the sailor’s sea-worn eye. 

Our sails were furled, our anchor fell 
In the wide roadstead’s heavy swell. 

No circling harbor’s rocky mole 
Repels the vast Pacific’s roll 
Along the wide bay’s wavy trend 
Where sea and land for aye contend,— 
Booming a ceaseless, rumbling song,— 


102 Afloat With Old Glory 

Now lulling soft, now waxing strong— 
The solemn moan of vexing sea 
Which knows no rest, by God’s decree; 
Emblem of trouble, untamed ire, 

It tosses kelp, and dirt, and mire! 


VII 

The hamlet thin whose huts of clay 
Straggle along the dusty way, 

Barren of thrift, of homelike cheer, 

Old legends of the past appear; 

The dull result of Padre’s sway 
With proselytes of olden day. 

O woeful work! A menial prize,— 

Pagans veneered with Christian guise,— 

To guard the herd, to dig the field, 

Wood, water, bring: obedience yield 
To pampered monks, through penance pain, 
Feared, threatened, felt,—till constant gain 
Piled high their riches, tempting power 
To plunder all. The evil hour, 

Long waiting, came: with ruthless hand 
Was stripped and peeled the fruitful land. 
Of wealth despoiled, their glory waned 
And ghostly rites alone remained. 

Gone is that age, its spirit gone; 

Set is the medieval sun! 

Its martyrs sleep in mound and grave 
Where vine and fruit tree twist and wave; 
Best relics of the seed they sowed,— 


The Blockade 


Best records of their last abode. 

The land is waking from her dream 
Her long inertness to redeem: 

The friar’s rule has passed away,— 

The signs are all of breaking day! 

VIII 

Fremont is here: his mountain men 
Have burst their barrier, strong as when 
The avalanche rolls down the vale: 

In vain the forces that assail 
The primal heroes, prompt and brave 
To raise upon the western wave 
The glory of the eastern shore 
Uniting both forever more! 

Signs of the warfare still we meet; 

The sentry on his measured beat, 

The tents that gleam in snowy line, 

The polished cannon’s brassy shine, 

The tethered steed, the campfire’s cheer, 
Stacked arms and drums and bugles near, 
With bunting rippling over all 
A busy, martial camp reveal. 

Beneath the forest’s cooling shade 
The riflemen are on parade; 

Brisk is the music’s stirring peal, 

Precise the squadron’s shapely wheel 
As shifting line, and rank, and square, 
Display the forms of artful war. 

When quiet hours of evening come 
We hear the dull pulsating drum; 


104 Afloat With Old Glory 

The sunset gun booms far away,— 

Down comes the flag and ends the day. 
The campfires shed their flickering light 
On tent and sentry all the night. 

Then, as the rosy hues of day 
Chase the dark shades of night away, 

When birds awake their morning cheer, 
The sunrise drum salutes the ear. 

Yet all is peace: war’s work is done; 

, No bush conceals a lurking gun, 

The hunter seeks the glade at will, 

The flocks are grazing on the hill, 

The groves- are vocal with the stroke 
Of woodman’s ax and crashing oak, 

And while the fleet rides in the bay 
There’s dust and din in Monterey. 

IX 

Old whaling hulks, and men-of-war, 

And transports, crank with mast and spar, 
Huge store ships clustering near the mole. 
In the long swell incessant roll; 

While launch and cutter, gig and yawl, 
With mettled oarsmen, eager all 
For race, or chase, trail lines of light 
Along blue waves and crests of white: 

The challenge, shout, and victor’s cheer, 
And throbbing oar locks thrill the ear, 

As the tough oarblades bend and gleam 
And vex the water’s closing seam. 

Along the sloping, wave-worn beach 


The Blockade 


i 


Where seaweeds toss and ear shells bleach, 
The sand is flecked with squads of tars, 

And water casks, and shapely spars 
Fresh from the grove where late they grew 
And drank the rains and mountain dew. 
The armorer’s forge, the cooper’s tent,— 
Crude artisans on frolic bent,— 

White hammocks drying,—rattling near 
The rope-walk’s busy notes of cheer, 

And furzy brooms, and fuel piled, 

Provoke the seaboy’s gambols wild— 

Right glad to leave the tossing bay 
To share the workmen’s holiday, 

Refitting every waste and wear 
Of wind’s and wave’s, incessant war. 

O welcome labor! happy change 
From narrow ship: sensation strange, 

The still, firm earth, to see, to feel 
Beneath our feet,—no heaving keel 
And ceaseless motion’s twist and roll 
Tiring the body, tiring soul! 

Welcome the step on solid shore— 

The tasks that eager tars implore! 

These sounds of toil to us are gay— 
There’s music now in Monterey! 

X 

When morning airs grew soft and warm, 
Pressed down the bay a finny swarm, 

Vast as the sands that gem the shore,— 
Millions propelling millions more! 


106 Afloat With Old Glory 

And still they come, an army strong, 
Pouring their tide for hours along, 
Changing the water's glassy green 
To purple streaks with ink between. 

A gleam ! a flash! again! again! 

Like firefly’s sparks in summer glen, 
Reveal the strife of fin and scale 
When hungry foes the swarm assail, 

None fiercer than the shark whose war 
Forever feeds a hungry maw. 

“ Ho! fishermen all! Away! Away! ” 
Down drop the boats, for sportive fray, 

By seamen manned of age and skill 
Gained in Newfoundland’s waters chill, 

Off Labrador, in Irish seas, 

Or stormy shoals of Hebrides, 

Where ocean’s finny nations swarm, 

And men contend with cold and storm. 
The boats are stored with lead and line, 
And seine to sweep the teeming brine,— 
Fixtures complete in every part 
To bring success to fisher’s art. 

With skilful hands the net is flung,— 

Like beads upon the water strung 

The jetty cork buoys toss and play 

Till all are out. “ Oarsmen, give way! ” 

Shoreward the boats excited drive 

And slowly drag the meshy hive 

Till on the beach’s floor of sand 

The boat’s keel grates: all spring to land— 

And tug and haul: the floundering spoil, 

Piled heaps on heaps, repays the toil. 


The Blockade 


107 


XI 

So half in earnest, half in play, 

We whiled the weary days away; 

We fished with lines for golden bass, 

Picked muscles from the salt sea grass; 
Along the beach’s foamy swell 
We gathered many a priceless shell, 

Twisted and bent with curious curl,— 
Inlaid with ruby, emerald, pearl; 

We watched the breaker’s foamy spray, 

The land bird’s flight, the seagull’s play, 
The old dull town, that duller grew, 

Till all were starved for something new. 
Five tedious months lapsed slow away, 

Our flukes still rusted in the clay; 

But once upon the bow they hung, 

And once aloose our sails were flung, 

To break the spiritless blockade 
And San Francisco’s bay invade,— 

A quiet basin, vast and deep, 

Sheltered by hills that round it sweep, 

Secure from storm, of ample space 
The world’s armadas to embrace. 

Brief was the solace granted here,— 

More meagre still the hamlet’s cheer. 

Our homesick men, each weary day, 
Fretted and chafed the hours away, 

Now trusting rumor’s flattering tongue, 

And now by disappointment stung; 

Old Tantalus no torture knew 

More keen than that which teased our crew. 


io8 Afloat With Old Glory 


XII 

Strange lives we lead: the seaworn tar 
Greets the land’s outline from afar 
As homesick schoolboy greets his home,— 
Yet e’er the new moon fills her dome, 

His chronic restlessness returns,— 

The quiet harbor’s lee he spurns: 

Unblest alike on sea or land, 

His anchor clasps no friendly strand. 

Who tempted first the stormy tide! 

Who ventured first on waters wide 
Beyond the quiet, landlocked bay, 

And saw the billows leap and play,— 

Saw storm arise and coming night, 

And naught but sea and sky in sight? 

Who, shipwrecked once, again would dare 
To risk his life and fortune there? 

Bold was the man, of nervy frame! 

Alas! who knows his royal name ? 

Hail! noble tar, in lonely grave, 

Untamed in death by wrecking wave; 

Thy words of hope to living men 
Inspire the risk of storm again! 

Wrecked, buried on a stormy coast, 

A sailor says, “ When we were lost, 

Full many a bark outrode the gale; 

O gallant tars! be brave! set sail! ” 

Aye, Aye, brave soul! while winds blow free 
A kindred race shall sail the sea,— 

All storms defy, all perils brave, 


The Blockade 


109 


To find, at last, like thee, a grave. 

And thou, Orion! ill-starred man, 

Pursued by fate’s disastrous ban, 

In whelming billows overthrown 
With all thy mates, save two alone 
Cast with thee on the seething strand, 

Bruised, bleeding, blinded, choked with sand, 
Scarce knowing whether life or death 
Gave or witheld thy halting breath,— 

O stranded tar, forlornly brave, 

Still wilt thou tempt the cruel wave? 

Our answer is, the tumbling foam 
That rolls above thy silent home! 

Thy sails were set for India’s sea— 

They entered dim eternity! 


XIII 

And thou too hail! old sailor true, 

And soldier, chief in hazards new,— 

Sir Gilbert of the Golden Hind, 

Of sturdy courage, manly mind, 

Conning thy book with heart aglow 
While gained the fatal leak below, 

And conscious still that, o’er the foam, 
Waited for thee thy English home,— 

Thy noble oaks, thy fair demesne, 

Thy blushing roses, ivies green, 

And loving eyes that watched to see 
Thy home-bound sails and welcome thee. 
Thy last known words of trust sublime, 


I IO 


Afloat With Old Glory 

A triumph peal o’er death and time. 

“ As near is heaven by sea as land,” 

He said, and sank, with all his band! 
What wealth of manhood sleeps below 
The everlasting billows’ flow! 

What valor, faith, achievement high, 
Lost to the world when heroes die! 


XIV 

O Colon! more than mortal brave 
Thy challenge of the unknown wave, 

While all the world, in scoffing tone, 
Reviled thy faith that stood alone, 

While pedants conjured false alarms, 

And mutiny rose up in arms! 

O Colon! strong thy sailor soul 
To breast so long old ocean’s roll, 

All landmarks gone! no sight, no sign, 

To mark thy pathway on the brine! 

Above a sky, below a realm 
That tests thy power of sail and helm 
Through days and nights that endless seem, 
Still loyal to thy splendid dream! 

What though no sign of land appeared, 
Still on! right on! thy bark was steered! 
What though the wasteful Ocean Sea 
No bounds revealed; thy firm decree 
Was ever on! right on! thy soul 
Outflew all space to reach thy goal. 

O gallant chief! what mind can know 


The Blockade 


111 


Thy secret struggles, nights of wo, 

Thy breadth of vision, power of will, 
Thy faith that, baffled, triumphed still! 

In darkest hour tamed angry men, 

And turned them to their tasks again, 
Recounting all good omens o’er 
Till gleamed the light on Salvador! 

A ray that gilds thy deathless name, 

And crowns thee with a hero’s fame! 

Still lives thy thrill as seaman turns 
His eye where home’s clear beacon burns! 
And yet a thousand times more blest 
The one who finds his spirit’s rest 
By sparkle led, on unseen shore, 

That, once beheld, shines evermore! 


XV 

The sailor spirit latent lies 
In every heart; few only rise 
From life’s inertia strong to hold 
Their steadfast way through stormy world. 
Bid memory wake! recall the scene 
Of children on a village green, 

Prostrate, and gazing on the sky, 

And saying,—“ O that I could fly! ” 

They watch the glorious clouds that sail 
So grandly on the summer gale, 

And feel their pulses quicker play 
Half trusting that some coming day 
Shall give the wondrous power to rise 


1 12 Afloat With Old Glory 

And float, and sail, through happy skies. 
Finding in that ethereal blue 
Pleasures that mortals never knew. 

O happy childhood! whence the power 
To clothe with rapture such an hour; 

To revel in the splendid scene 
Imagined on a village green! 

The child’s glad soul is free as air; 

He does what manhood may not dare; 

No early wounds their hold maintain 
With undertone of endless pain; 

No weight of memory bears him down 
With bitter thought of blessings flown; 
No leaden past, of wrong and sin, 

Stirs up a mutiny within. 

All life is focussed on the hour 
That manifests the mighty power 
To rise, to float in space away 
In one prolonged, enraptured day, 

As far as thought or will can last, 
Unfettered by a solemn past. 

And O! the splendor of that sail 
On airy clouds and fancy’s gale! 

XVI 

In thoughtful mood I too recline, 

I feel the lift of heaving brine 

And gaze away through deep blue sky, 

And see the cloud fleets sailing by: 

With more than childhood’s strong desire 


The Blockade 


IJ 3 


I feel my burning thoughts aspire 
To join that fleet and bear away 
Beyond the utmost bounds of day! 

Ho! stout three-deckers! squadrons strong 
That all your spacious seaway throng,— 
Do spirits man your airy spars, 

And set your sails, and con your stars? 
Does conscious mind float far and free 
Through happy morning’s rosy sea, 
Through evening’s waves of molten gold 
Where secrecies of heaven unfold? 

O happy sailors, freed from time 
And conscious all of power sublime,— 

No cloud can dim your youthful eye, 

No tempest mar your radiant sky, 

No lightning blast: no wave conceal 
The reef to crush your heaving keel! 
Safely ye sail through ether’s glow, 

The world of waters rolled below; 

Safely ye sail through vistas grand 
That vast as endless space expand! 

Ye come from realms beyond our sight, 

Ye span the heavens and pass to night— 
No night for you! when day is done 
Your pilots seek the blazing sun! 

Ye feel his all-transforming power— 

Put on the radiance of the hour 
In gorgeous hues that know no name— 
The fleets of all the heavens aflame! 

A happy haven ye have found, 

O gallant squadron, glory crowned! 

Does conscious mind that glory share? 


114 Afloat With Old Glory 

Would God that I were with you there! 
The child is happy in his dream, 

I only think: things only seem; 

My barren fancy brings no joy; 

Its vague delusions quickly cloy,— 

For memory’s leaden ballast clings 
Disastrous to my spirit’s wings: 

I’m anchored to a fateful past,— 

In vain I struggle: O how vast 

The blessed land of—Might-have-been! 

Would God that I had entered in! 

Is there some sea where spirits sail,— 
Where all is safe: the happy gale 
Blows only to that peaceful shore 
Where souls rejoice forevermore? 

Then O my soul! arise and flee 
For safety to that tranquil sea! 


XVII 

What is this mystery called time, 

So slowly doled by shipbell’s chime, 
When weary watch lags on at night,— 
When weary days prolong the light, 
While longing souls invoke, implore 
Some good that lingers evermore ? 

What is this thing called time that flies 
Like sunset hues from tropic skies, 
When pleasure wields her subtle power 
To glorify a fleeting hour? 

Few pleasures cheered our weary stay,— 


The Blockade 


"5 


Remote, unknown, our sailing day,— 
More blank, more dreary was the time 
The nearer came that joy sublime! 
Remote, unknown, the date supreme 
Of waking from life’s troubled dream, 
The hour that smites with blasting light 
The phantoms of life’s dreary night, 
And renders clear to purblind eye 
The tangled lines of mystery. 

So mortals dream, yet swift as light 
Splendor pursues departing night, 

And hastens that supernal day,— 
While blind men chafe at time’s delay. 
As blind our tars, unconscious all 
Of good or ill that might befall; 

The present brought no happy boon,— 
The future loomed with fate unknown. 


XVIII 

But all things earthly have an end,— 

O blissful truth when fears impend! 

The boatswain’s pipe with piercing scream 
Dispelled our melancholic dream,— 

With frenzy fired each heart and brain, 

As joined each mate the glad refrain! 

“ All hands up anchor! ” thrilling sound! 

“ Up anchor all! ” we’re homeward bound! ” 
A burst of joy! a shout! a cheer! 

And orders hoarse perplex the ear; 

Then slowly lull as if each brain 


116 Afloat With Old Glory 

Bewildered, sought the sound again! 

An instant more and, wild and high, 

Burst forth again the joyful cry! 

From deck to deck, above, below, 

Forward and aft the accents go,— 

The frantic shout of homesick men 
Wild with the dream of home again! 

Then trampling feet, and rattling gear, 

And orders hoarse perplex the ear. 

Their liveliest air the bandsmen play; 

The capstan spins; besmeared with clay 
Our anchors rise and catted swing; 

Aloft the topmen nimbly spring— 
Responsive to the trumpet’s bray— 

“ Let fall! Sheet home! Quick, hoist away 
Down rolled a glorious canvas cloud 
On mast, and spar, and stay, and shroud, 
Filled by the wind that seaward blew, 

While boomed our guns their last adieu! 


HOMEWARD BOUND 
I 


No dull regret, with leaden hand, 

Reached outwards from the sinking land, 
To tug at heavy heart and brain 
As when home sinks below the main. 

The heart is where its treasures gleam; 

In empty lands hope builds no dream! 

The hills recede, the waters rise 
And lap with myriad tongues the skies; 

In solemn loneliness the pall 
Of ocean’s night envelopes all. 

Swift through the waste of wave and dark 
The night wind crowds our peopled ark, 

A triumph of man’s daring will,— 

O miracle of mortal skill! 

On tranquil sea, on angry tide, 

Alike the tars in thee confide! 

No tranquil sea inspires a song,— 

The winds are piping loud and strong, 
The mighty billows heave and foam,— 
Vast is the waste, and far our home! 

II 

Where leads our path, O landsman wise, 
Safe in your cultured paradise, 

117 


118 Afloat With Old Glory 

Sheltered, and roofed, and girdled round 
With every comfort wealth has found; 
Anchored secure by singing rills, 

And circled by eternal hills,— 

Pictures that graced youth’s happy time, 

Nor changed their color in thy prime; 

Where stream, and wood, and rock, and glade, 
In outline clear of light and shade, 

Familiar grown as face of friend, 

Your waking thoughts and dreams attend ? 
Always the same, yet always new,— 

The circling world that meets your view,— 
The wintry glory, hills of snow, 

And shadows vast of pines below,— 

The icelocked streams, the marble lake; 

Can power supreme their torpor break? 
Behold the change! each flinty band, 

Touched by the springtime’s gentle hand, 
Withdraws its grasp: the rushing rills 
To music wake the dull gray hills,— 

The birds return: the grass and flowers 
Respond to May’s reviving showers. 

O peerless birth from winter’s tomb! 

A prodigy of green and bloom! 

Of blushing fruits, of rustling corn, 

That earth’s rough lineaments adorn— 

All ending in the heartfelt praise 
Of golden autumn’s harvest days; 

A maze of miracles sublime 
That glorify the scenes of time! 


Homeward Bound 119 

III 

While pomps like these beguile your eyes, 
Where lies the path, O landsman wise, 

That we pursue, by night, by day, 

Through winds and waters boistrous play? 
What opening blooms, what dreamy maze 
Of netted thicket lures our gaze? 

Or meadows spread by cot and mill, 

Or wood that broods the quiet hill, 

Or mountains vast that sweep and climb 
Through cloudy heights in space sublime? 

In vain we gaze: the hungry eye, 

Like Noah’s dove, no land can spy,— 

But deserts vast of rolling blue: 

Old ocean’s billows in review— 

Alone reward the fasting gaze 
Through double Lent of eighty days. 

To him who basks in sunny land, 

A summer’s marvels all expand 
While still we carve the circling sea,— 

Our bounds the same, ahead, alee; 

The springing corn, the blade, the ear, 

And golden kernels all appear, 

While trails our bark her foamy wake 
From San Francisco’s quiet lake 
To Valparaiso’s bay that flings 
Wide its glad arms and “ Welcome! ” sings! 

IV 

Familiar sights and sounds again 
Imperil our hilarious men 


120 Afloat With Old Glory 

As, free from watching, toil and care, 

They breathe the seaport’s tainted air— 

More fatal than the storm, or steel, 

Or jagged rock beneath our keel. 

O manhood’s prime! O youthful bloom! 

Why so in haste to find thy tomb ? 

Why dally with thy deadliest foe ? 

Why headlong crowd the gates of wo ? 

O why within the poison bowl 
Drown thought and sense, kill life and soul? 
O memory! in thy pictured hall 
Are scenes that still my soul appal; 

The sickening sights when reckless men 
Spur passion on with flowing rein— 
Insensate oaths, and drunken strife, 

The demon clutch at throat and life, 

The idiot’s leer, delirium’s glare, 

Shrieks that portend the soul’s despair, 
Gibber of fiends, infuriate yell 
Extorted by the pangs of hell! 

O memory cease! Come Lethe kind 
And blot these tortures from my mind: 

The painful sense of blight and loss,— 

The fine gold turned to worthless dross,— 
Fair manhood, worth and virtue, gone: 

The mother would not know her son, 

So deep the brand of shame and sin 
Has burnt its grinning outlines in. 
Consoling thought! no mother’s ken 
Shall greet those blasted forms again: 

The ocean’s depths, or potter’s field, 

Their wretched sepulchre shall yield, 


Homeward Bound 


i 21 


While loving kindred wait and pray 
Where babbling tongues no tales convey! 
Thus faith preserves the vision fair, 

Of virtue, truth, and promise rare, 

That on youth’s hopeful days attend 
Unconscious of the hopeless end. 

Kind is thy task, O speechless grave, 
Though mother’s heart thy secret crave! 


V 

Again the Boatswain’s silver call 
Cut the keen air: “ Up anchor all! ” 

Each burly mate the husky note 
Rolled hoarsely from his bellowing throat. 
Each ready ear the signal knew, 

Each sailor to his station flew. 

The drum and fife, with brisk refrain. 
Charmed the huge anchor’s dripping chain 
That, snakelike, through the hawse pipe sped 
And brought the anchor from its bed, 

With flukes piled high with plastic clay 
And shells, and seaweed from the bay. 

A volumn vast of canvas rolled 
From yard and stay in ample fold, 

And fore and aft, above, below, 

The black spars spread their wings of snow 
O victory of mortal power! 

O joy supreme, the golden hour, 

When the last anchor quits the ground, 

And swelling sails speed, homeward bound! 


122 Afloat With Old Glory 

What lies before our dashing prow, 

O curious school boy! answer now, 

As, spurning thus the quiet bay 
We plunge into the tingling spray, 

And heave and roll in hissing foam 
That boils around our tossing home? 
Thou too must sail life’s stormy sea; 
What harbor’s light shall welcome thee? 


VI 

The hills dissolved,—again the gale 

Smote the tense shrouds with shriek and wail; 

The sunset’s wake illumed the plain, 

Blue sea routine returned again. 

A month went by and wind and wave 
Of drenching spray their tribute gave 
As nearer drew the southern bourne 
Of rival seas, far-famed Cape Horn! 

Far famed Cape Horn! to seaman’s ear 
A name of dread,—a haunting fear,— 

Symbol of danger, pain, and toil,— 

Ice seas from which the brave recoil,— 

Long nights of darkness, snow and hail, 
Whose ordeal bids the sternest quail. 

We saw the Cape, in distance dim, 

Rise cone-like on the water’s rim,— 

A mountain in the deep sea hurled, 

To mark the bound of southern world 
Yet off that Cape no tempest blew 
With vapors dense of ocean dew, 


Homeward Bound 


123 


But sunny skies and sprightly air, 
And playful breezes, light and fair, 
That swept us past the dreaded Horn 
With studding sails and royals on! 


VII 

The sun had reached its utmost goal, 

And circled round the southern pole, 

When our huge bows, unswerving still, 
Went plunging through those waters chill. 
Each day the lengthening hours of light 
Encroached upon the bounds of night, 
And every clue to passing time 
Seemed all at fault. The shipbell’s chime 
Marked midnight hours while still the rays 
Of twilight met our dubious gaze, 

And, slowly stealing, clear and fair 
On sky and sea, the ruddy glare 
Of sunrise glories, e’er the bell 
Announced the morning watch’s knell. 


VIII 

But changes came, above, below,— 
Who can foretell what winds may blow? 
What fortune waits, what fates abide 
Mortals who tempt the fickle tide? 


124 Afloat With Old Glory 

Through rolling tides we floundered on, 

By gales and vagrant breezes borne,— 

Through dripping fog-banks brooding low,— 
Through spiteful squalls of sticky snow,— 
Through islands vast of dreamy haze, 

And purest ether’s blinding daze. 

The wayward sea was changeful too 
Revealing in its mirror true, 

In shadows dark, the stormy sky, 

The deep blue vault of wondrous dye,— 

The sober gray—each starry gem 
Of solemn midnight’s diadem. 

Along our wake, in frantic glee , 

White sea-birds held wild revelry,— 

A bevy vast, on ample wing, 

In sweep, and curve, and airy ring,— 

Now drenched by jets of tossing spray,— 

Now upward mounting, swift! away! 

Strange spirit birds ! In sailor’s creed 
Unpardoned is the wanton deed 
That mars the wing-kept jubilee 
Of birds that cheer the lonely sea. 

Our greybeard tars sedately tell 
Of storms and wreckings that befel 
The luckless bark whose fated wood 
Was stained with Albatross’s blood! 

A weird and kindred race are ye— 

O sailors of the air—and sea! 

Delusion, this? Since Noah’s day 
Bird-signs have marked man’s dubious way; 
Wise nations’ mighty secrets cling, 

Auspicious, to an airy wing! 


Homeward Bound 


I2 5 


IX 

Becalmed we lay one glorious night 
Beneath the full moon’s flooding light; 

The wondrous plain of molten gold, 

In broken flakes of lustre rolled, 

Brighter than Arctic flames aspire— 

A sea of glass and mingled fire! 

On either beam, ahead, astern, 

Where’er the ravished eye could turn, 

The glassy sea’s reflection blazed 
Till eyes grew weary as they gazed,— 

So vast the realm of living flame 
That, undulating, went and came. 

O why such waste of splendor given! 

That flashing sea, that spangled heaven,— 
That realm of living glory—why— 

Beyond the gaze of mortal eye? 

X 

Two months went by: the friendly breeze 
Swept our swift keel through warmer seas; 
Past Falkland Islands, cold and rude,— 
Past many a seagirt solitude,—• 

Past wide La Plata—Silver Stream! 

Old Spanish cruiser’s happy dream! 

Still on, and on, till softer skies 
And northern constellations rise, 

And dimly traced, the western wave 
A sight of Rio’s landmark gave,— 


126 Afloat With Old Glory 

Cape Frio rough whose rocky mole 
With thunder greets the billow’s roll. 

We gazed the mid watch hours away, 

Lured by dim lights that starred the bay, 
Hungry to see the day’s return, 

And sunlit waters flash and burn. 

We braced our yards,—the seabreeze blew— 
Along the Rolling Ground we flew, 

Past Razor Island, Light-House Tower,— 
At torrid moontide’s sultry hour 
The tiny rainbow’s transient tinge 
Spanned the huge anchor’s mighty plunge! 


XI 

Still, still the same, O matchless bay! 

Thy round of martial pageantry,— 

Thy trim and bannered men-of-war, 

With daring length of mast and spar,— 
Thy spiteful cannons’ sharp report, 

As ship greets ship, or booming fort,— 
Thy gallant boats that flash and glide 
Athwart the harbor’s glassy tide,— 

Visits of state and proud display 
From high officials, starred and gay,— 
Attended each with spangled suite 
And din of echoing salute,— 

Above, around, the glorious sweep 
Of mountains piled in crescent deep, 

That to the glittering bay look down 
On pomp that shames old world renown. 


Homeward Bound 


127 


How swiftly time has hurried on! 

Full thirty months have come and gone 
Since pressed our ship this glassy tide— 

A peerless bay, a nation's pride— 

And we delighted ear and eye 
On sights and sounds that never die. 

Since then our buoyant sails, unfurled, 

Have swept us round the rolling world! 

Yet our good ship, her pennon blue 
Floats in this warlike retinue, 

As staunch, and trim, and proud, as when 
She passed beyond Old Rio’s ken! 

XII 

All things allure, yet short our stay; 

Our homesick hearts brook no delay; 

For through the future’s veil appears 
Love’s beaming eyes, and joyful tears, 

And welcome smile, and greeting hand, 

That speed us to our native land. 

Our gallant ship the signal knew,— 

Spread her white wings and seaward flew, 
As homeward speeds the carrier dove 
On pinions swift of hope and love. 

Our bows in smothering foam went down,— 
Foam white as snowdrift’s curling crown,— 
Turned back the tide with hiss and roar, 

And through the waves a pathway tore. 

O sight that bids the pulses fly! 

An open sea! a cloudless sky! 

A noble ship! a spanking gale! 


128 Afloat With Old Glory 

That tests each thread of straining sail; 

Around, the wide spread, shoreless plain,— 

Blue as the azure’s deepest stain! 

A million billows capped with white, 

Sparkling in midday’s lustrous light! 

Breaking in jets of diamond spray, 

Borne on the gale, aloft! away! 

And timed in perfect order all, 

The rising deck, its measured fall— 

’Tis sound and motion’s rhythmic charm, 
When ocean chants his choral psalm! 

’Tis transport when chimes with the sound, 

The sailor’s heart-beat, homeward bound! 

XIII 

Fair blew the wind,—the friendly sea 
In foamy wreaths swept far alee: 

Still warmer grew the sunny air, 

And midnight hours as Eden fair. 

Still onward swept our tireless wings, 

As cloudlet to its pathway clings, 

Across the line whose unseen band 
Divides earth’s central sea and land; 

Through wastes of weed-strewn tides that bore 
Relics of flood and ravaged shore, 

Where Amazon his tribute gave,— 

A volume vast, to ocean’s wave. 

We watched the compass, watched the sea,— 
Strange that for once old salts agree! 

It seemed a world of sailor lore 
Illumed our tars, unknown before, 


Homeward Bound 


129 


We counted days that fewer grew,— 

Our reckoning every ship-boy knew,— 
The nearest land the cook could tell,— 

The rate we sailed declare as well; 
Marines could mark the northern star 
Slow rising on the watery bar,— 

Dear to each heart as lighthouse ray,— 
Home’s landmark true to all who stray. 

XIV 

Familiar signs to seaman’s eye 
Reveal the tropic islands nigh: 

The tradewind’s power began to fail. 
Light breezes baffled helm and sail, 
Squalls tore in shreds the glistening plain, 
And torrents fell of welcome rain; 

Vast gulf weed meads, a floating field, 
Sargasso’s tepid sea revealed; 

In beds and islands vast they lay,— 

A steaming growth of tropic ray; 

Beyond the maintop lookout’s ken, 
Stretched the wide waste of weedy fen; 

A million birds, in airy play, 

Above, around, kept holiday, 

None loving life with heartier cheer 
Than Mother Carey’s chickens dear 

XV 

One morning sun rose cold and dim 
Above the water’s misty rim, 


130 Afloat With Old Glory 

Low, brooding fogs around us spread, 
Our friendly breezes all were dead. 

The short-chopped sea, by instinct true, 
At once each greybeard seaman knew; 
The welcome Gulf Stream’s tepid tides 
Were lapping at our floundering sides, 
And sweeping on, with silent flow, 
Past Hatteras Cape of rolling snow. 
What means that earnest, wistful gaze, 
As, peering through the ashy haze, 

The lookout strains his weary eye, 

Some dim and distant form to spy? 
Unreal all these portents seem! 

Or is it but some midwatch dream,— 
Some drowsy picture on the brain 
That, once disturbed, comes not again? 
Not faith or sight can credence lend 
That ocean paths can have an end, 

Till memory’s eye, in swift review, 
Flashes like light our voyage through. 


XVI 

The vast Atlantic’s waves are spanned,— 
The Indian’s billows, broad and grand,— 
The wide Pacific’s glassy plain 
Twice have we traversed—and again,— 
Stormy Good Hope, the Rocky Horn 
Are both of threatening danger shorn; 
Our keel has cut earth’s central line 
Six times, as knife divides the twine. 


Homeward Bound 


* 3 X 


The wind, storm, lightning, hail, and rain, 
Of icy clime and torrid main, 

Our noble vessel’s strength have tried , 
Yet still she rides the throbbing tide— 
Queen of the sea! Thy crystal throne 
And watery realm are all thine own! 

O noble ship! each timber strong, 

And mast, and spar, inspires my song! 

I love thee well from truck to keel! 

O who can tell the pride I feel 

For thee, thou well-tried, faithful friend, 

First, last, and always, to the end! 

Hail, noble ship! while memory clings 
To all the past and pensive sings 
Of my weird dream on dangerous main, 
Thy name, Columbus! wakes the strain! 

XVII 

Keen did the icy north wind blow, 

White with sharp flakes of blinding snow, 
Chilling our limbs with frosty spray— 

So lately warmed by tropic ray. 

When neared our ship the offing wide 
That drinks the Atlantic’s rising tide,— 
As clung the lookout to the shrouds, 
Peering through winter’s angry clouds,— 
A tiny sail, in outline dim, 

Shot from the water’s hazy rim— 

In build and rig as fair a gem 
As graces ocean’s frothy hem. 

A moment more a welcome hail 


32 Afloat With Old Glory 

Broke from the craft of tiny sail, 

As round our stern she cleft her way 
And backed her sail beneath our lee. 

Swift through the decks the tidings flew; 

A crowd around the gangway drew, 

And never lover’s flashing eye 
Sparkled at sight of maiden nigh, 

As flashed their eyes when, kindling warm, 
They met the pilot’s manly form. 

But not the pilot’s practiced skill, 

Nor sail, nor helm, nor sailor’s will, 

Can land a single restless tar 

Till flood-tide bears us past the bar. 

XVIII 

So while, impatient of delay, 

We chide the tardy hours away, 

Our perils, toils, and watchings done, 

Long weary years of voyaging gone, 

Our human hearts with instinct true 
Turn warmly toward our well-tried crew, 

So soon to be, like snowflakes driven, 

All scattered to the winds of heaven. 

Could truthful fancy follow on 
The path each wanderer’s footsteps run, 
What martyr’s roll could match the tale 
Of men whom countless foes assail? 

’Tis well no anxious, prying eye, 

Fate’s book of secrets may descry; 

That none may know what ills impend,— 
What slip shall bring the solemn end. 


Homeward Bound 133 

Some, spell-bound by their vagrant ways, 

Will thread the wide world’s endless maze 
Till, in some lone and savage isle 
Where never shone a Christian smile, 
Uncheered by face of tender friend, 

They meet their prayerless, Christless end. 
And some will plow the treacherous wave 
Till sink they in the sailor’s grave. 

But O how few will seek the ways 
Of peaceful home’s unsullied days, 

Though strong resolves and plans are made, 
Like others doomed, alas! to fade. 

Without some hope to cheer him on, 

Of solace when his toils are done, 

How could men live? How bear life’s load 
And crush of toil,—the despot’s goad,— 

The everlasting grind and strife 
That eat away the life of life— 

Vain hope! that like a witch’s charm 
Lures ever far from rest and calm, 

Till life is spent—hope’s vision flies— 
Despair and death their latest prize. 

Pass from these decks eight hundred men: 
Say! will they ever meet again? 

Will autumn leaves when sere and dry 
Again adorn their native tree? 

The silver from Potosi’s mine 
Again in virgin ore combine? 

Will men who fell on battle plain 
Greet with glad voice their homes again? 

Aye! when revive those heroes slain 
Then will our crew all meet again! 


134 Afloat With Old Glory 


XIX 

O who a mariner would be! 

No rest is his on land or sea. 

Home’s quiet charms delight him not, 

No love of woman cheers his lot. 

No social charm of early friends 
His life’s declining day attends. 

The fatal choice once made, in vain 
He seeks life’s vantage to regain; 

His place once missed—gone fortune’s day— 

A thing misplaced he drifts away, 

Where change, and want, and wreck, and storm, 
Combine against his shrinking form; 

He seems a mindless atom hurled 
On aimless errand through the world. 
Conflicting motives, chance and fate, 

The willing conscripts congregate 
Within a warship’s narrow bound 
Where Babel tongues all speech confound, 

And races, ranks and habitude 
But fuel seem for ceaseless feud. 

Time flies: routines resistless sway,— 

Care, toil, and danger, sportive play,— 

While none suspect the silent change,— 

Mold in one mass the mixture strange; 

One life inspires, one moving soul 
Thrills every heart and sways the whole. 
Behold the end! The subtle band 
Melts as their footsteps press the land; 

One hour undoes the work of years,— 


Homeward Bound 


1 35 


A hazy dream the past appears; 

Bygones are gone! away we fly 
Beyond all trace of mortal eye, 

Each eager to renew the strife 
In some new phase of sailor life, 

Heedless of the divine decree— 

“Lo!—there is sorrow on the sea,”— 

Till youth, and hope, and life are flown, 

All mingling in the dread unknown. 

XX 

And yet perchance in years to come,, 

When many a shipmate’s voice is dumb, 

In some thronged mart, or foreign port, 

Or inland town, or strange resort, 

A well-known face will greet the eyes 
And wake the heartbeat’s glad surprise,— 

A thrilling sense of old-time joy,— 

We clasp and cry,—“ What cheer, my boy 1 ” 
Words waken thought, a glittering chain,— 
The dim past springs to life again, 

And well-known scenes of perished days 
Float up to meet the fervid gaze, 

As vivid, fresh, and real all 
As time had bid the years’ recall. 

XXI 

What craft bears down with friendly hail? 
Hurrah! it brings a lusty mail, 


136 Afloat With Old Glory 

With tidings fresh and words of cheer,— 

The spirit of a lifeless year,— 

A photograph of what was done, 

Said, thought, and planned, beneath the sun. 
Best boon of all, from homes appear 
Missives that summon joy and fear 
To grapple in a dubious strife 
For lordship in a mortal’s life. 

What guided,—instinct, fate, or chance, 

First to that line, my eager glance? 

“ Died: Lucy,”—place, and day, and hour,— 
“ Her age, sixteen! ” I read no more! 

The day is dark,—the future dead; 

Its plans, hopes, prospects, all are fled: 

The past alone has life and power 
To vitalize the palsied hour. 

The undertone of all my song 
No earthly power can now prolong, 

Or send a single friendly ray 
To pierce the gloom that dims the day. 


XXII 

What vision rare awoke the strain, 

And tinged its theme with joy and pain, 
So persevering, time nor place 
Its constant presence could efface? 
What subtile power with clinging hand 
So bound me to my native land,— 

In spite of need, desire and will, 

And held me there a captive still, 


Homeward Bound 137 

Its mighty secret covered o’er 
With silence deep as ocean’s floor? 

What lured my fancy far away 
O’er watery deserts, day by day, 

As though a wandering thought could find 
Solace in somewhat left behind, 

Or reach the lost, as swimmer’s hand 
At night might clutch the welcome sand? 

What shaped so oft the vivid dream 
Of homes old scenes, the fireside’s gleam, 

Of faces, forms, of happy tone 
Of singer’s voice that, heard alone 
When scores of merry voices blend, 

The raptured thoughts alone attend? 

When splendor gleamed on land and sea, 

And music’s tones, and sounds of glee, 

Gave life and charm to novel scene,— 

What other vision slid between 
The gazing eye, the listening ear, 

That could not see, that could not hear, 

So eager was the rival power 
To dominate the passing hour? 

The far-away was real then; 

The present was the phantom scene! 

When hunger gnawed at strength and life, 
And slow disease maintained the strife, 

And death his victims captive led,— 

Whence came the whisper—“ Light ahead! ” 

A film of fancy, undefined,— 

A happy hope that pleased the mind,— 

As thin as air on mountains cold,— 

As iron cable strong to hold, 


138 Afloat With Old Glory 

With power resistless, heart and will 
Obedient to its bidding still; 

A force that mastered thought and life, 
Despite all rivals’ secret strife, 

And held perforce the willing soul 
Exultant in its blest control! 

All that is past! the spell is dead; 

Away the mocking mirage fled; 

As sailor starts at morning gun 
From happy dreams I wake undone 
And feel my doom’s resistless shock 
As billow feels the headland rock! 

My world in ruins!—what for me 
Shall the mysterious future be? 

For me alone the secret hides,— 

Alone I watch time’s changing tides. 
Can that bright world my skilful brain 
Outlined so fair return again? 

From the poor wreckage of the storm 
The stranded tar a raft may form 
Again to dare the faithless sea 
And such perforce my lot must be,— 
For I life’s stormy sea must sail— 

A Power Divine must give the gale,— 
The chart and compass till the shore 
Gleams where sea-billows beat no more. 

XXIII 

What sound is that ?—a roar of steam 
Rudely dispels my sober dream, 

And lo! two tugs of giant power,— 

One on each beam! The final hour 


Homeward Bound 


1 39 


So long delayed at last is come! 

It calls in the perturbing drum,— 

We feel it in the nervous beat 
Of symbol’s clang, and tramping feet, 

And clamors rude and trumpet’s bray 
And wild, unwonted disarray. 

All things proclaim our voyage done! 

All things announce new scenes begun! 
Through tossing craft that flecked the bay. 
Our smoky consorts’ pathway lay,— 

Past island reaches, surfy shores, 

Where shells inlay the sandy floors,— 
Through Norfolk’s many masted fleet, 

That hovers near the busy street, 

Through countless boats that fret the tide, 
Sail-borne, oar-driven, they past us glide, 
And ferry, dredge, and muddy scow 
That barely miss our dangerous prow,— 

Till in among the hulks we found 
Our last and long-sought anchoring ground! 
The plunging flukes have gripped the sand— 
Around us gleams Old Glory’s Land! 


REMINISCENT 

1900 

So long ago, the joy, the toil, the strife, 

Ocean’s wild moods, intrusive death and strenu¬ 
ous life, 

A haunting vision dim and vast appears 
Beyond the billowy roll of fifty years. 

Is all evanished, dim and far away,— 

Its potency dissolved forever? Nay;— 
Through all the years their molding powers 
control 

Thought, feeling, being in the mobile soul. 

Routine’s resistless sway, steel-grooved, 
austere,— 

Life cosmopolitan, unique, severe,— 

The world-wide roll of waters, space and time 
Fold me, an atom, in their scheme sublime, 

And bid me own a dominance supreme 
That led my pathway through young manhood’s 
dream, 

Once sorely rued,—to where I wondering see 
And hail a Power Benignant guiding me. 


THE END, 


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